


Wasted Youth

by Bootyenthused



Series: Young and Valuable [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Completed, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Past Underage, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Time Skips, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-05-19 17:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 86,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bootyenthused/pseuds/Bootyenthused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxson’s carefree teen years were nonexistent, ripped away from him by the curse of his legacy. He’s too busy directing an army to worry about trivial things like joy rides or falling love. But there’s some part of him, deep down, that longs for those carefree years that were snatched away from him. For the one he wanted to spend those years with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unlost

She's running.

North, that’s where she wants to go. North to the bridge she needs to cross the Potomac. North past the raiders, the mutants, past all the things in the wasteland that want to kill her. Once she's across the river, she needs to head west, but how far west? Little Lamplight is said to be northwest of Rivet City, but she needs to get supplies first if she's ever going to make it. It's about a day's journey to Megaton, of that she knows, but what then? If the camp is as far west as she's been told, it's going to be at least another day, if not two. She doesn’t have the resources to get her to Megaton, let alone the whole trip. So all she can do is run.

She runs from the super mutants occupying an old metro station, from the centaurs that patrol the road adjacent to the river, from the slavers at the Lincoln Memorial who call out to her, follow her, beg her to come back, promise her gifts of food and shelter. Their group is easy to outrun, her youthful endurance allowing her to push through the lactic acid burn, her feet slapping against the concrete where one of her shoes is slipping off her ankle. But she can't stop, not when the slavers decide that she's not worth the hassle and start shooting at her, not when their taunts echo off the concrete, not when bullets whizz past her before she can get to cover.

When she's crossed the bridge, she ducks behind one of the concrete barriers for just a second to pull the ankle of her shoe back over her foot. The slavers are gaining on her, and she takes a deep breath before pulling herself back to her feet, turning left after the bridge. To get to Megaton, she should've taken a right, but there's a large building looming in the distance, a fortress of sorts, perhaps? The Capital Wasteland is full of large structures damaged by the war; most are occupied by super mutants, feral ghouls, or other equally terrifying creatures, so she's not quite sure why she risks navigating to it. She feels a sort of pull towards the building, something inside her telling her that it's the right way to go. Maybe there she can find shelter, protection, food. The sun is setting rapidly, and there's no way she can fend against the horrors of the wasteland at night. It's about a fifty-fifty shot of it being occupied or abandoned, so the young girl continues to run, ducking behind fallen buildings to catch her breath as she makes the trek towards the building.

It's another hour or so of ducking into alleyways and around buildings before she's sure that she's not being followed anymore. She tries to avoid the main roads, running silently through the shadows as she approaches the fortress. Its seven-story walls are cold, and she can't help but press her face against it, willing the heat from her cheeks to dissipate as she catches her breath.

She walks along the outside of the structure, trying to find an entrance, a sign of life. Running her hands over the cool limestone, she eventually stumbles upon a sort of crevice in the wall, just big enough for her to squeeze most of her body into. With the darkness and the overgrown vines that decorate the exterior, she's sure she can hide here for the night, that the creatures of the wasteland won't stumble upon her. At least she hopes.

 

**\-------**

 

When the dawn comes, she's jolted awake by a hand on her arm. She grabs the switchblade from its sheath on her hip, points it towards the tall, looming man in front of her as she cowers further into the crevice. 

“Careful there, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you,” the stranger assures. To prove it, the man dressed in military fatigues sets his rifle down beside him and raises his hands. “I’m with the Brotherhood of Steel. Can you tell me your name?”

“Amelia,” she sputters out. Composing herself, she tries again. “Amelia Dirthe, I’m from Rivet City.”

“Rivet City, huh? Me too, originally. What brings you to the Citadel?” The man continues, gentleness lacing his voice.

“She’s a kid, Knight. She’s probably lost,” says another voice, a woman this time, distorted by a metal suit of armor that Amelia has only seen once or twice before.

“You guys are the ones who cleaned up the water, right?” Amelia asks, ignoring the man’s question. Her mom told her about these people, how they restored an old pre-war memorial and turned it into a water purifier a few years prior. While she's never personally interacted with any of them, she's always held them in a sort of high-esteem. They are part of the reason that the wasteland is stitching itself back together, why Amelia could go swimming on the backside of Rivet City with her mother, part of the reason for her mother's smile. Some others in Rivet City, they almost worshiped the Brotherhood, holding them up as saviors, protectors, the force to unite the wasteland.

“That would be us. I mean, I wasn’t there personally, but our forces were responsible for defeating the Enclave and securing Project Purity, yes.”

Amelia nods, slipping her switchblade back into her boot. If the stories are anything to go by, she knows she can trust these people, at least more than she can trust most others around the wasteland. The man in fatigues hands her a can of water wordlessly while the woman in the metal armor scans the area. Amelia thanks him for the water, drinking it slowly, the burning in her throat dulling with each sip.

“My name is Danse, I'm a knight, and the woman behind me is Paladin Lode. Would you like to come into the Citadel with us and get some food?” the man, Danse, asks. Amelia nods, her stomach rumbling at the thought of food.

“Knight, shouldn’t you bring this up to Elder Lyons first?” the Paladin muses. Danse sighs, closing his eyes before responding.

“I’ll ask him at the door, but you know how he feels about abandoned children.”

Amelia resists the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of her being a child; she's _fourteen_ , thank you very much, and she’s made it this far from Rivet City without anyone's help. She is very much not a child, okay?

Rather than protest the term, she grabs the half-full bottle of purified water and goes to follow the knight, the paladin already having turned to walk away. When she stands up and stumbles, Danse is there to catch her, asking if she will be able to make the quarter-mile journey to the Citadel’s gates unassisted. Jerking out of his grasp with a huff, she hastily catches up with the paladin, who keeps quiet for the remainder of the journey, a quiet Amelia honors and respects.

When they arrive at the fortified gate, two other men in power armor stand out front, accompanied by a sentry bot. Amelia has never seen anything like it before, and takes a step closer, curious about the machine as Danse buzzes on the intercom.

“Elder Lyons, we have a child with us who we found while patrolling the perimeter. Permission to bring her in for sustenance and assessment, sir,” Danse’s voice booms louder than what seems necessary, and Amelia assumes that the centuries old intercom probably doesn’t work as well as it did in its prime.

“Permission granted, knight. Bring her in for assessment, but do not take her past the bailey,” an old voice beckons, scratchy through the speakers. The gate begins to rise, and Danse turns to the wastelander.

“Welcome to the Citadel, ma'am.”

  

**\-------**

 

Amelia is brought directly before the elder, who Danse tells her is the man in charge. He is old and frail looking, but he shakes her hand and welcomes her to the Citadel.

"My name is Owyn Lyons, and I'm the elder of this east coast chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. We come from the west, from a place called Lost Hills. Our goal out here is to collect technology and protect the citizens of the wasteland, be it from mutants or from themselves."

He gives her a small rendition of their history, introduces her to a few people standing beside him, each younger and more stoic than the gray-haired, smiling elder before her. She nods to each of them, marking their names and ranks for later, if she is to meet them again. The elder gives her a small tour of the bailey, indicating which type of training is done where, pointing to each door and explaining where it leads. Amelia starts to feel faint, stumbles over her feet again as the elder mentions that he very rarely runs into wasteland children nowadays. Danse catches her again when she loses her balance, blushing as the knight steadies her on her feet, the rest of the entourage ignoring the action aside from the elder, who looks concerned.

“If you’d like to join me inside, we can get you some food and rest,” Elder Lyons speaks after a moment, gesturing with his hand towards the door leading to the A-ring. Amelia, quiet as always, simply nods and follows the elder, Knight Danse trailing behind her while the rest of the group dissipates.

“Knight Danse, I would like you to see to it that young Amelia here is set up in Arthur’s room. How old did you say you are, dear?”

Amelia wants to lie to the elder, tell him that she's older so maybe he will invite her to join them. She doesn’t see many people her age running around, so perhaps they don’t allow children into their ranks? Whatever the case, she plans to make the best of her stay here. A bed and free food are not luxuries that have been afforded to her for a long time.

“Fourteen,” Amelia responds, opting to be truthful. With her frail frame, it’s not like she could conceivably pass for older, anyway. Lyons nods in response, and as the three descend into what the elder calls the A-ring, a young woman in power armor races up to the group.

"Sarah, I'd like you to meet Amelia, she'll be staying with us for a couple days until she gets on her feet." Lyons gestures towards Amelia, who stands firm against the scrutinizing eyes of the blonde woman before her.

"That's great, dad. Bigsley needs us in the lab, though. Meet me there in five," the woman says, stalking past the group. "Nice to meet you!"

The elder sighs. “No matter. Knight, please show our guest to her room, and have her report to my office during meal time. Dismissed.”

Danse salutes the Elder jauntily before clasping his hand to Amelia’s shoulders and guiding her forward.

“Your quarters will be located in the B-ring, just down the hall from the elder’s. The quarters belong to knight – I mean, Paladin Maxson, who is currently out on assignment. He is not due back for another week or two, so you shouldn't be disturbed,” Danse explains to her as they push through the double doors into the B-ring. Amelia says nothing, eyes scanning the hallway, committing everything to memory. The two continue to walk, turning left at the end of the hallway. The knight opens the first door on the right, motioning for Amelia to enter as he follows in behind her.

“The room is mostly empty, but we ask that you refrain from touching any of Arthur’s belongings while he is away. The elder’s quarters are just the next door down, but I would not disturb him unless absolutely necessary.” Danse’s formality perturbs Amelia slightly, but rather than dwell on it, she sits down on the bed and sighs. The knight peers behind him before reaching into his bag and handing her some snack cakes and a can of purified water. “If you need anything, there is a knight posted around the corner at all hours, and there will likely be soldiers walking around who you may speak with. Get some rest, ma'am. I will be back to collect you at 1900 hours.”

With that, the knight exits the room, closing the door behind him. Amelia wills herself to rest after eating the food from Danse, but sleep will not come easily. Instead, she lays on her back, thinking back to how the day’s events have transpired. From runaway orphan to Brotherhood guest, she supposes things could be worse. With the slightest weight off her shoulders, she wills herself to sleep.

 

\-------

 

It's been almost a week, and Amelia is still at the Citadel.

Elder Lyons has been courteous, telling her on her first day that they would be happy to provide her time and space to rest, recover, collect herself. In the days since, no one pushes her to do anything, not even pressing her for questions, seemingly satisfied with Amelia’s short response of “Rivet City, dead parents” when someone asks where she came from. She even learns more Brotherhood history from the elder's daughter, Sarah, learns that there are no children at the Citadel because most of them died in an outbreak a few years back, and those who survived were moved to the Brotherhood's other post at an old air base for their own protection.

As her sixth day draws to a close, the elder pulls her into his quarters and gives her an ultimatum: join the Brotherhood, or leave.

Amelia is a little taken aback by the demand, but she understands. She is using up their resources while providing nothing in return. She asks for the night to think about it, to give him her response in the morning. Elder Lyons grants her that, and it leads to Amelia staying up all that night, tossing and turning as she weighs her options. On one hand, she has gathered that the Citadel is probably the safest place for an extremely petite fourteen year old girl with no resources or survival experience. On the other hand, the rules around here seem pretty strict – strict meal times, strict wake-up times, communal bunking (which she thankfully hasn’t experienced yet) – and she isn’t sure if she's disciplined enough to fit in. But she's been spending her time at the Citadel visiting with members of the Brotherhood, from knights and paladins to scribes and proctors, asking questions and learning about their operations. She's intrigued by the wide intellect she finds not only in the scribes, but throughout the ranks. If she stays, maybe she can finally get the education that she's dreamt of, maybe she can learn enough to make a difference in the wasteland, like her mom always told her she could. But Little Lamplight provides schooling, too, from what she understands, and it would allow her the opportunity to be a kid for a little longer, something she feels like she's never had the chance to be.

She's weighing the likelihood of surviving the trek to Little Lamplight versus succeeding in the Brotherhood when the door to her quarters bursts open, the overhead light flickering on immediately as a young man pushes into the room.

“Who the hell are you?” the boy yells, startled by her presence. His hands fly to the pistol at his waist, pulling it out and aiming it between Amelia’s eyes without even a moment of deliberation.

Amelia screams and scurries back against the headboard, blanket wrapped around her head as some sort of protection. Is the Citadel under attack? Did they send someone in to kill her so they didn’t have to take care of her any longer?

“My name’s Amelia - I’m a guest!” she manages to yell, closing her eyes and willing the pain to be quick and easy. Instead of a bullet, however, she hears a groan. Daring to peak through the blanket, she sees the young man has dropped into the chair in front of the terminal, his pistol holstered.

“You’re the one Danse told me about. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be in here,” he speaks, a little bit softer but obvious agitated. This must be the paladin that Danse mentioned – Andrew? Alex? – and Amelia visibly relaxes, calming down enough to take a look at him.

His gangly body shape and pimply face indicate that the paladin can’t be much older than she is, but a long scar dons his right cheek, indicating he's battle-worn and experienced. From what she understands, the rank of paladin is above the rank of knight, a title held by Danse, who looks much older than the boy sitting in front of her. But this young paladin has his own quarters, something only three others – the elder, the sentinel, and the head scribe – have the privilege of. She figures he must be important, but with his shaggy hair falling in front of his face and his impulsive behavior towards her just then, she is having trouble placing what exactly makes him so special.

“The name’s Arthur, Arthur Maxson, but I’m sure you know that already,” he says, eyes closed as he leans backwards in his chair. She frowns at how pompous he sounds, how he doesn't bother to look at her when he speaks. “I’m sorry again for, well, for threatening you. I just returned from a mission and was not aware of Lyons putting you up in my _private_ quarters.” The emphasis on the second to last word only further confirms that this boy has a sort of superiority complex.

He doesn’t open his eyes, and Amelia doesn’t extend him the courtesy of accepting his apology. She looks at him more, trying to analyze the brashness of his behavior. His facial cues only show signs of exhaustion, enhanced by the dirt caked into the creases of his face. Amelia admits to herself that the boy – her peer, by the looks of it – is easy on the eyes, _very_ easy, but she would never vocalize this. Not because she's shy, but because she can tell that Arthur is right at the prime age of teenage arrogance, and his head already seems big enough as it is.

Arthur reaches down to his bag, pulls out a pack of potato crisps and two bottles of Nuka Cola. “How old are you, anyway?” he asks, popping off one of colas' bottle cap and handing it to the still quiet girl.

“Fourteen,” she replies, and they are the first words Arthur hears from her that aren’t full of fear. Her likes the way her voice sounds - soft, but not timid; deep, but not masculine. It reminds him of Sarah’s voice, but younger, warmer. He offers her one of the crisps after Amelia takes a sip of her cola, but she shakes her head. Pulling them back toward himself, Arthur kicks his feet up on the bed and leans back in the chair again, popping a crisp in his mouth.

“I just turned fifteen a few weeks ago, so I guess we’re not too far apart in age. Not many our age around the Citadel, really. Lyons doesn’t really like to put kids into the field until they hit 16. I’m just a special case because of my family.” His voice, full of haughtiness, echoes around their concrete room. Amelia wishes he would speak quieter, but she knows asking would be a lost cause. “Are you joining our ranks? You should. There’s Brotherhood, and then there’s everything else, that’s what they always say. From my experience, everything else seems pretty lame. Why run around scavenging and starving to death when you can have everything you ever wanted here?”

His cockiness annoys her, but Amelia realizes that Arthur has a point – Little Lamplight isn’t a guarantee; if she even survives the journey, will they have the resources to take care of her? Will she be offered the same opportunity, companionship, protection that she has been offered here?

After a few moments of silence, Arthur speaks, voice muted because of the crisps that fill his mouth:

“You’re quiet. I like that. Maybe, if you stay, we can be friends. Everyone here either heckles me because I’m young, or kisses my ass because I’m a Maxson. But you have no idea who the Maxson’s are, so that’s cool. And you’re not trying to talk my ear off about assignments or squadrons or anything.”

Arthur’s casual mention of friendship seems genuine, though the hubris in his voice stays persistent. Amelia smiles a bit about his acknowledgement of her silence; Arthur talks enough for two people, anyway. He looks over at her, giving her a small smile, and she returns it, the small one already adorning her features turning into almost a full grin. Amelia averts her eyes after a moment of eye contact and oh my god, is she blushing? She wills it away, refusing to decide her life path over a cute boy’s smile. Maybe in another world, she could smile without caring, and the blush on her cheeks would be endearing, not a sign of weakness. In another life, where death wasn't always looming on the horizon, where she didn't have to fight every moment to stay alive.

“You can stay in here for the night. I’ll go grab a cot in the barracks. But I want my bed back tomorrow.” The young man grabs his bag and moves to exit the room, pausing in the threshold. “Nice to meet you, Amelia. I hope you stick around.”

She just might.  
****

\-------

 

The next morning, Amelia approaches Elder Lyons at breakfast, waiting until a pause in his conversation with the head scribe, whom she met two days prior.

“Sir?” She interjects politely. The elder turns towards her, motioning for her to sit down. Choosing to remain standing, Amelia squares her shoulders and grasps her hands together in front of her.

“I’d like to join the Brotherhood.”

Elder Lyons just smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I haven't written a fic in YEARS so I'm very excited. Comments and critique are welcome. Thanks for reading!


	2. A Place to Rest My Bones

The months start to fly by, Amelia falling into her role in the Brotherhood. She chooses to go the route of the scribe, pledging her allegiance to the Order of the Shield. Having arrived at the Citadel in late-September, Amelia spends the winter learning how to clean and maintain power armor, studying the Codex and familiarizing herself with her new family, some of whom she’s growing rather fond of.

Winter passes easily, Amelia never having to leave the Citadel except to trade a few things with one of the caravans passing by. Books, mostly, and magazines – her passion for pre-war literature able to see the light of day finally – and after crossing paths a couple times, she notices the merchant that frequents the Citadel is carrying a greater variety of books, occasionally slipping in an extra magazine for her at no extra charge. She’s grateful, and for once in her life, she has leisure time to read, rather than spending day in and day out cleaning, digging, doing various chores around Rivet City in hopes of scrounging some caps together to buy her and her parents a warm meal.

She and Arthur become fast friends; the morning following Arthur's return he escorted her to breakfast, and once they started talking it was like they couldn't stop. Since then, they spend most meals together, talking about anything and everything, a closeness between them blossoming beyond Amelia's expectation. When she first met Arthur, she had the impression that he was a stuck up brat, but she's found that he's much more than that. Cocky, definitely, but only really in words. He's smart, efficient, and an exceptionally great soldier, with the brains and actions to back up his boasting. Scribes and knights alike look up to him, and Amelia hears him tell the same stories a hundred times when different soldiers join them at mealtime. Each time, Arthur grows a little more excited in his storytelling, and sometimes she calls into doubt the truth of his actions, but when she asks Danse about it, the knight is more than happy to back up Arthur's stories, from killing a deathclaw with nothing but a knife to annihilating a horde of super mutants. Sure, the stories were stretched a bit - Arthur had wounded the deathclaw with his laser rifle before he ran out of ammo and delivered the final blow with his knife, the super mutant encampment had been annihilated by an entire squad, but even then Arthur was the lead on the mission.

Arthur tells her the complete truth behind his legendary stories one night after dinner, the first night he invites her back to his quarters to hang out privately. He explains that he twists the stories a bit to boost morale, and a bit because of his namesake. Descended from the creator of the Brotherhood, everyone expects great things out of him, and he figures that if what's in the reports is the truth, then there's no harm in exaggerating or omitting a few details here and there if it makes for a good story. Amelia still thinks it's because he's full of himself, but she doesn't say anything.

Arthur and Danse, perhaps Haylen too, are definitely her closest friends at the Citadel. Maybe the closest friends she’s ever had. Danse takes an interest in her after she joins the ranks, becomes a sort of brotherly figure to her. She feels like she can come to him, about everything. And she does, a lot, spends time talking to him about Rivet City, about the Brotherhood, about her doubts and insecurity of her place in the ranks. She talks to Danse more about her insecurities than she does with Arthur, because he understands the feeling of not belonging, of being an outsider, while Arthur is the literal embodiment of the Brotherhood. When she thinks about that, it seems weird that Arthur's two closest friends are both outsiders.

Amelia spends many nights teaching the three soldiers various card games, passed down to her by her father, by her friends in Rivet City and in her hometown. Arthur and her even pool their money together after about a month or so, buying a chessboard off the caravanner, Amelia hopeful of having some worthy opponents for once. Haylen and Danse are good players, but she beats them almost every time. Arthur on the other hand, is a significantly greater challenge, and there are many nights when they lose sleep over their game, where their other friends retire for the night while the two teenagers battle it out. Arthur's a very gifted strategist, from what she's witnessed and what she's been told, and that seems to carry over into their games of chess, which he wins about half of. The two quickly bond over their similar age and taste for adventure, and after a few short months, Amelia is sure that she can claim Arthur as her best friend.

 

\--------

 

As spring approaches, so does Amelia’s birthday, and when March rolls around she starts dropping hints to a few of her closer friends – Danse, Arthur, Haylen – not bothering to brush the important day off. She will be fifteen, and Head Scribe Rothchild has granted her the day free of duty, so she plans on finding a nice perch to read the new books she’s collected from the traveling merchant.

The morning of her birthday, she is summoned to the Elder’s office after breakfast; she sighs a thanks to the young man who brings her the message, hoping that the blonde woman isn’t planning to assign her sweeping duty on her birthday. When she finishes her meal, she traipses to Elder Lyons’ office, coughs to get the woman's attention.

Amelia takes note of the dark bags under her eyes when she turns around, bags that only seem to darken every day that passes since her father's death in December. Amelia had grieved with the woman after the man's passing, toasted to his triumphs with Arthur and Danse and the rest of the soldiers with personal closeness to the late Owyn Lyons. But Sarah seems to be falling into her role well enough, if the chatter in the mess hall is any indication.

Sarah ends up promoting Amelia, relaying to her Rothchild's reports of her exceptional work, her overwhelming dedication towards learning the Codex and the Brotherhood's history. Amelia becomes a full scribe, then, the elder saying that it's unusual to promote someone after such a small amount of service, but Rothchild doesn't feel right asking the things that he does of an initiate. With a promotion to scribe, she'll be able to accomplish more under the wings of Rothchild and the proctors, be able to access more information so that she can continue to learn and keep the Brotherhood's history.

When Amelia is dismissed she runs to her bunk with a smile on her face, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she belongs here, among these people – her brothers and sisters.

 

\--------

 

Amelia spends a good portion of the day curled up in the upper level of the A-ring, nose in her book. When 1800 hours rolls around Amelia rushes down to the mess hall, anxious to see her friends, hungry after she skipped out on lunch. Not long after she grabs her portion and sits down at her favorite bench she is joined by Danse and Maxson, Haylen having been out on assignment for a few days now.

“Happy birthday, Amy!” cries an excited voice. Amelia looks up from where she has been stirring her potatoes, waiting to eat until her friends arrive. She smiles at Arthur, rolling her eyes slightly at the use of his nickname for her. She's never liked that particular abbreviation of her name, but Arthur insists on using it, no matter how much she protested it in the beginning of their relationship. She's found ignoring him is the easier option. The young paladin plops down in the seat next to her, followed closely by Danse, who elects for the seat across from them. “We missed you at lunch.”

Amelia apologizes, explaining how she had been caught up in a book and lost track of time. Her friends nod in return; they were used to that sort of behavior from her.

They eat their dinner, Danse reminiscing on what it was like to be fifteen, Arthur asking whether or not she ever going to grow any taller. Amelia shoves at his shoulder a bit, but there's no force behind it. And besides, self-deprecating jokes are her favorite, whether they're aimed at her or not.

“I, uh, got you a present, of sorts,” Danse mutters after they've all finished their meals, sliding a box wrapped in old newspaper over to the scribe. While he was the one to recruit Amelia, while he spends a lot of time with her and with Arthur outside of formality, he wasn't sure if it was appropriate or not of him to give her a present. When Arthur mentioned his gift for Amelia, Danse decided that it wouldn't be that inappropriate, especially since he was lower in the ranks than Maxson. 

Amelia grabs it, ripping off the newspaper without a second thought. It is a stack of three books, all leather bound.

“Thank you, Danse!” the birthday girl exclaims, reaching her small body across the table to throw her arms around the big man’s shoulders. He blushes, mutters a small “it was nothing,” pats her gently on the back. Amelia sits back down in her seat, thumbing through the pages of the books, eager to read them already.

“I got you something too,” Arthur exclaims. He reaches into the bag at his feet, pulls out a small 10mm pistol fitted with a wooden grip and a silencer. “I modified it so it wouldn’t have a lot of recoil. Too much would probably knock you over.”

A quick elbow the ribs to shut Arthur up only causes him to laugh, the paladin placing the pistol in her grip when he's sure she won't hit him again. “It’s not loaded or anything right now, but I have some ammo in my pack.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she breathes, snaking one arm around his back in a grateful hug before running her hands over the wooden grip, committing the feel of it to memory.

“Everyone needs a handy weapon, and that switchblade you threatened me with probably won’t do you any good in a real world situation,” Danse affirms.

Amelia chuckles at the memory of their first encounter, accepts his advice. She isn’t really handy with weapons at all – prefers to steer clear of them if at all possible, but Danse is right. The wasteland is an unpredictable, unforgiving place, and if she ever finds herself in a tough situation, having a gun to protect her will give her an advantage.

“Thanks guys. These are great gifts, I really appreciate them.” Amelia slips the books and the gun into her own bag, zipping it up and smiling at the pair.

The trio make simple conversation over the rest of dinner before Danse excuses himself, rushing off to guard duty at the gate. The paladin had requested the night off a week or two ago – not that he would have shown up for patrol anyway. He hates night patrol, and no one really dares to punish him for ignoring his duties every once in a while. He is a Maxson, after all.

“If you’re up for it, I can teach you how to shoot that pistol later,” Arthur whispers, leaning close to her. Goosebumps creep along Amelia’s neck as his warm breath ghosts across it.

Amelia nods, completely up for it. She’s actually never shot a gun, even though she handles them nearly every day as a scribe.

The two rush through the rest of their food, anxious to get to the shooting range. Amelia dumps her tray at the dish station, stalking towards the range in the bailey before Arthur grabs her shoulder and pulls her back. She looks at him quizzically, and his hand circles her wrist, pulling her hastily towards the door to the A-ring. She follows him, jogging alongside him through the halls, through the door to the B-ring, past his room and into Sawbones’ office, exiting out a door labeled off-limits before the robot can ask questions. He leads her down a long corridor, cutting through a couple abandoned offices before pulling her across a tall pile of rubble.

Running ahead of her, Arthur disappears around a corner, his footsteps fading as Amelia tries to catch up. As she rounds a corner, big hands grab at her waist and pick her up, throwing her over a strong shoulder.

“Arthur! Put me down!” She yells at her friend, giggling and beating against his back with her fists.

Rather than listening, Arthur ignores her, carrying her and laughing as he walks them down another hallway, not setting her down until they reach a corner room, boarded up windows surrounding them.

“Did you bring me here to kill me with my new pistol?” Amelia jokes. Rather than answer her, Arthur smiles, pulling one of the boards off the window, climbing up on the window sill, and jumping down.

Amelia rushes to the window, looking down with worry, only to see Arthur about 8 feet below her, smiling and waving, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes. Rolling her eyes, she hoists herself up on the windowsill, careful not to hit her head on the window’s bars as she jumps down, strong arms steadying her as she catches her balance.

“Why are we out here, Arthur?” Amelia asks.

“We’re going to shoot that pistol, I told you,” he answers, leading her forward, passing through some dead bushes as they approach a makeshift range, tin cans and bottles stand at attention on a partially collapsed ledge overlooking an old freeway. “I set this up when I was a kid, before Owyn would let me join the initiates for training in the bailey. No one ever comes over here – it’s just past the patrol range for the Citadel, and I’ve cleared it out enough times that the wasteland creatures don’t bother me around here anymore. We’re safe.”

Amelia feels a rush of excitement, shielding her eyes from the setting sun to get a better look at their surroundings.

“I’d say I’m impressed, but you might do that thing where you get full of yourself,” she teases, and Arthur gives her shoulder a slight push, a giggle escaping his mouth. His feminine giggle only serves to make Amelia laugh harder, and the two found themselves caught in a fit of laughter.

It takes them a few minutes to compose themselves, and when they do, Arthur bends down to grab a clip from his bag, slipping it into the pistol he gifted Amelia. He aims at one of the bottles, pulling the trigger and shattering it without even a glance towards its direction. The young paladin wiggles his eyebrows, eliciting an eye roll from his friend.

Handing her the pistol, Arthur tells her of how he’s been shooting pistols for as long as he could remember, and how it’d probably take Amelia a while to get to his level. Amelia refrains from rolling her eyes again, instead opting to flip the safety off and shoot at one of the bottles, missing greatly. Arthur answers by doubling over in laughter, taking the gun back and flipping the safety on before setting it on top of their pack.

“Your form is completely wrong. Let me show you.”

Arthur has her stand how she thinks she should stand and laughs at her lack of training. He pushes her feet apart with one of his own, kicking softly at the back of one of her ankles and instructing her to stand with her left foot slightly forward, shoulders following it. A little confused, Amelia moves the wrong shoulder, prompting a small laugh from her friend. Arthur puts his large hands on her shoulders gently, angling her shoulders in the right position. He puts the pistol back in her hands when she’s standing correctly, leaning over her shoulder to adjust her grip.

“Drop your left elbow,” he instructs, and Amelia relaxes it, allowing Arthur to manipulate it into the correct position. His breath creeps on her neck as he explains the position, how it’ll help her keep an equilibrium and minimize the recoil, how it allows for easier mobility so she can move quickly if needed. Amelia’s listening, of course, but when he leans over her a little more, hardened chest pressing against her back, her breathing becomes a little uneasy and she has to force herself to concentrate.

When Arthur stands back, walking a slow circle around her to check her form, she tries not to blush at the way his eyes look over her, at the serious look on his face that replaces the usual smile he wears whenever they’re together. He places his right hand on top of hers, micromanaging how her fingers grip the gun before he stands back and assess her again.

“Now, put the bottle in the middle of your sights, don’t just move your arms or shoulders but adjust your feet, and when you’re ready, shoot.”

Amelia does as he’s instructed, flipping the safety off and taking a deep breath before squeezing the trigger. The gun recoils in her hands, the bullet flying upwards rather than at the target. Arthur frowns.

“You’re not being firm enough with the gun,” he decides, instructing her to tighten her grip, to familiarize herself with its weight and try again. She misses again, but the gun doesn’t recoil as much this time.

The two spend another hour or so on the makeshift range as the sun starts to fade, and after about a dozen or more shots, Amelia finally hits the top of one of the Nuka Cola bottles, shattering the stem. She takes one of her hands off the gun, turning towards Arthur excitedly.

“I did it!” she exclaims, loosening her grip on the gun and turning towards Arthur, who steps forward and takes the gun from her, smiling as he inserts it back into her pack. “Did you see it? I hit the bottle!” Amelia continues, hopping excitedly, smile wide. The soldier smiles, wraps an arm around her back and pulls her into his side.

“Next time, we’ll try aiming for the _center_ ,” he jokes, and Amelia pouts in response as she pushes away from him. She turns and grabs her pack, pouting off back towards the window they crawled out from.

He calls after her: “Aw come on Amy, I was just teasing!”

Amelia hides the smile threatening to creep on her lips, holding onto the façade as she throws her pack through the window.

“Amy, come on,” Arthur begs, grabbing her shoulder before she tries to climb back inside. He spins her around, eyes full of worry before he notices the smirk gracing her lips, then uses the hand already on her shoulder to shove her backward. “You’re a shithead,” he pouts, turning away from her and throwing his own bag into the window.

“But it’s my birthday, so you have to be nice to me,” Amelia says smugly, laughing at Arthur’s pouting.

“I hate you,” he concludes, contradicting himself by offering to help her through the window, cupping his hands together and pushing her up as she struggles to pull herself through.

When she’s inside, he jumps and grabs the window sill, pulling himself up with his own arm strength. Amelia hasn’t really taken note of it before now, but Arthur has really started to bulk up in the six or so months that it's been since her arrival at the Citadel, and she can't help but be a little impressed. She pushes the thought back, reminding herself that he is her friend, nothing more; they were too young, too naïve, too far apart in rank to even consider being something more.

Plus he is a Maxson, which Amelia learned is an extremely huge deal in the Brotherhood; it meant that his soul was forged in eternal steel, that he had a duty to the Brotherhood, not to a girl chewed up and spit out by the wasteland.

The two bicker as they retrace their steps through the long hallways, Arthur navigating the area effortlessly. Amelia laughs at his stupid jokes, rolls her eyes at the casual boasting that slips into the conversation, shoves him when he made a joke at her expense. The two fell into this friendship easily, to both of their delights, and the banter between them came naturally at this point.

When they’ve made their way back to the door leading to Sawbones’ office, Arthur peeks in to make sure the coast is clear before grabbing her hand, pulling her through the office, down the hall and into his quarters, closing the door in haste and laughing, letting go of her hand as he plops down onto his desk chair.

“How did you find that route, anyway?” Amelia asks, perching herself on the edge of his bed. She has been in here countless times, but is always wary of getting too comfortable. They had been interrupted once before by a knight delivering a message for Arthur. The two of them were sitting on the bed playing a game of cards, nothing more, but she still remembers the sly look the knight gave her as he backed out of the room.

“I used to explore the Citadel a lot when I was younger, before Lyons let me start training,” Arthur explains. “It was a place I could slip off to and practice my shooting without being chastised for it.”

Amelia nods, relaxing a bit on the bed as Arthur rifles through his desk.

“Cards or chess?” he asks. Amelia decides on chess, Arthur opening one of his desk drawers to pull out the board and the burlap sack they keep their makeshift pieces in. Danse and some of Arthur’s other comrades had been keeping eyes out for actual chess pieces, but the two were comfortable using old earrings, keychains, nuts and bolts as their chess pieces, designating each piece’s role in accordance with the game.

The two friends spend hours playing chess, finishing out three games before they decide to call it a night. When Amelia checks the time, it’s approaching one in the morning – way past curfew. She groans, expressing her disdain for having to sneak into the laboratory to get to her bunk at this time of night.

“Just stay here for the night,” Arthur suggests. Amelia’s eyes widen – he's never offered such before, even on the nights they play games until the early hours of the morning, sacrificing sleep in a desperate quest to outdo each other at chess, or poker, whatever game of their choosing.

Amelia expresses her discomfort – what if someone came in, what would they think? Was it appropriate? Could he even really do that?

Arthur brushes aside her concerns with a chuckle, grabbing one of his pillows off his bed and pulling a sleeping bag from his trunk.

“Just take the bed, Amy. I’ll take the floor and we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Amelia sighs, figuring it was easier not to put up a fight. Plus, Arthur’s bed is significantly more comfortable than her cot in the barracks, and she doesn’t really feel like getting reprimanded by one of the knights for being out past curfew again.

Arthur sets himself up, crawling into his sleeping bag and turning the light off after Amelia has situated herself.

Amelia leans off the bed, whispering a quiet “good night” to Arthur and smiling as she pulls the covers around her.

“Happy birthday, Amy,” Arthur yawns, rolling over.

Sleep comes easy that night, for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm hoping to keep updates pretty regular (once/twice a week) but I'm trying to make sure I have the chapter after the one I post already written, so I (hopefully) don't have to go back and change anything. Also, I switched to present tense because it makes sense with the flashbacks/memories and stuff that frequently keep happening. As always, criticism is appreciated. I'd love to hear what y'all think!!


	3. Give Me Hope

As summer stretches on, Amelia and Arthur find themselves spending more and more time together. Whether it is shooting on the range together or sitting next to each other at meals, Amelia and Arthur can be found together whenever there is a second to spare. Operations outside of the Citadel almost cease entirely after the gruesome death of Sarah Lyons in May; since there was no clear successor to Sarah, the higher-ups squabble amongst each other, eventually naming the severely under-qualified Proctor Boyle to the elder’s seat. Boyle was recently promoted to Proctor of the Order of the Quill, assigned with the upkeep of the Brotherhood’s history – not one qualified to lead an army. But he is the man who drew the least amount of resistance among those in higher ranks.

Boyle is proving to be a useless leader, choosing to focus the Brotherhood’s resources internally, sending out operations only to find specific parts for the airship that has been under construction for almost two years now. Because of the lack of ops, Amelia and Arthur are able to fine tune her skills with a pistol, Arthur even letting her practice with his rifle on occasion.

Eventually, shooting practice just becomes an excuse for the two to spend time together. Some days they go out to the range and don’t even pick up their guns, instead opting to play card games and share Nuka Colas, sometimes venturing out and swimming, all the while exchanging stories of their lives before they met each other. Arthur finally tells her the full story of his ancestry – how he can trace his lineage back to before the war, how his mother sent him out to the Citadel to toughen him up, how he knew one day he’ll take his place as High Elder and how sometimes that scares the hell out of him. How he is jealous that Amelia was given a choice to join the Brotherhood.

“I joined the Brotherhood because of you, you know,” Amelia tells him the night he brings up her choice in the matter, offhandedly mentioning it as she passes him the half-full bottle of Nuka Cola they’ve been sharing. Arthur rolls onto his side from where they've been laying on their backs looking at the stars.

“Really?” he asks, propping his head on his hand and looking at her quizzically as he accepts the soda, taking a sip.

“Yeah, I mean…” Amelia trails off, catching his eye and quickly looking away with a blush. “I just mean that, you kind of swayed my opinion, I guess? You treated me with a kindness that no one had before – after you tried to blow my head off, anyway.”

“I had no idea,” Arthur says, rolling back over onto his back.

Amelia doesn’t really have anything further to say. It's true, Arthur definitely convinced her to join initially – mostly because of the promise of friendship and the warmth he showed her, but also because there was just something so enticing about him, something she just couldn’t place - not at the time, and still not now. There is a certain warmth in her chest that she feels whenever they are like this, laying close enough to feel the other’s body heat, to hear the soft inhales and exhales of their breath amid the quiet. It's that something that makes her smile whenever she sees him, that makes her look forward to the time they spend together.

Amelia closes her eyes as she loses herself in her thoughts, thinking about the Brotherhood, about Arthur, about the two of them as a unit. During her thinking, Arthur scoots closer to her. She opens her eyes when their legs touch, when he doesn’t pull away like he usually would. It seems like he was just testing the waters because when Amelia doesn’t react, he scoots even closer, resting his head on his smaller friend’s shoulder.

Amelia’s earlier blush returned as she rested her cheek on the top of his head, his no-longer-shaggy hair tickling her jaw as she sighs against his head.

Amelia doesn’t know how long they sit there listening to each other breathing, but when she feels her eyes becoming heavy she decides that it’s time for them to get back into the Citadel. They are likely way past curfew, and she isn’t really looking forward to lying her way out of another situation with the night watchmen. Amelia sits up, stretching her joints before looking over at Arthur, who’s staring up at her with sleepy eyes. She nods her head towards the window, helping him up with the hand he extends towards her. The two pack up quickly and wordlessly, climbing through the window with ease. When they get inside, Arthur throws a lazy arm around her shoulders and yawns, leaning on her until they reach the door in Sawbones’ office.

Rather than leaving her there and ducking into his own room like usual, Arthur passes his door, intent on walking Amelia to the barracks. The two are left alone, the night patrols that usually question Amelia simply nod at the paladin, and the two continue the trek without issue.

It isn’t that their brothers and sisters aren’t used to seeing them together, it's just that the time of night may seem… suspicious, perhaps. Amelia knows that many of the higher-ups look down upon their friendship; she often hears people talking about how Arthur befriending a wastelander is unbecoming of him, how his seed is too important for him to be spilling it into a wastelander.

The last part, crude as it is, always has Amelia feeling rather disgusted – can the two not be friends without involving sex? They are fifteen, for Christ’s sake, and as attractive as Amelia finds Arthur to be at times (and as wary as she is to admit that to even herself), she isn’t naïve enough to believe a relationship could work between them. They are simply too good of friends, anyway, and that’s all Amelia really wants right now, a friend.

“I, uh… I’m sorry I kept you out so long,” Arthur mutters, rough hand reaching up to rub at his neck, drawing Amelia out of her thoughts as they reach the door to the barracks. This is a new emotion for him; was it embarrassment? Timidity? Was Arthur actually feeling _shy_? Amelia doesn’t want to think about it, instead opting to stare at her own feet as she shuffles them, shrugging her shoulders at his apology.

“Wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last,” she replies, smiling up at him from her lashes. Arthur smirks at that, biting his lip and looking away as he adjusts his shoulders, standing more upright.

The two stand there in an awkward silence for a few moments, something uncommon for the two. Arthur looks around them for a moment and upon seeing the coast is clear, pulls Amelia into a tight hug, burying her head in his chest. Amelia is caught off guard, but quickly gains back her composure, wrapping her arms around him and sighing into the fabric of his jumpsuit.

The duo stand there encompassed in the embrace, the seconds dragging by. This, this is the first _real_ embrace Amelia has received since, well, since before things went south with her parents. Sure, she and Arthur have hugged on occasion, but those were usually friendly pats on the back. This, this is more sensual; there was a sense of need, of care, of trust.

Arthur finally breaks the embrace, arms still lingering on Amelia’s shoulders as he looks her in the eyes.

“You’re, I mean, I – we…” Arthur stutters over his words, something that has been increasingly occurring as the night goes on. “I’m really lucky to have you. As a – as like a, a friend, you know? Spending time with you is, it’s… nice.”

Amelia cracks a small smile at that one, squeezing his hips before letting go of Arthur completely.

“Back at you, pal,” Amelia smirks, eliciting a small chuckle from Arthur, who pulls away finally.

“Good night, Amelia. I, um,” he pauses, drawing in a deep breath and blowing it out of his nose, eyes darting to her face and away in quick succession. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Amelia nods a small goodbye, walks hastily to her bunk and stashes her bag in the accompanying footlocker. She tries to plop down on her bed quietly, pulling off her shoes, coat and hat before climbing under the covers. She finds herself missing the warmth from Arthur’s body.

Rolling her eyes at the fluttering sensation in her gut, she tightens the blankets around her, falls asleep with a smile on her face.

 

\------

 

When summer starts to fade into fall, Elder Boyle is replaced by Head Knight Johan, who is replaced by Sentinel Rhodes, who is forced out after he’s found fraternizing with a number of the female initiates. The power struggle in the Citadel only serves to turn brothers and sisters against each other, and it isn’t until around mid-August that the issues started evening themselves out.

Amelia and Danse overhear the proctors talking one night when she’s giving him a history lesson on the American Civil War; the history lessons have become routine between them whenever Arthur is preoccupied. The proctors are the only sort of higher-ups the Citadel has, since one of its proctors, the Head Knight, and the Head Paladin have all either been promoted to elder and subsequently forced out, or have chosen to retire. The three senior members are discussing who will next take the elder’s seat when the two friends overhear Arthur’s name being thrown into the mix. Amelia immediately shushes Danse, subtly gesturing to him to listen to the discussion occurring a mere twenty feet away.

“Lost Hills finally contacted us back when we mentioned Arthur in our transmissions,” Proctor Quinlan’s voice carries over to Amelia and Danse’s table. “They want Arthur to be elder.”

“He _is_ a Maxson,” Proctor Ingram agrees.

Proctor Peabody shoots back with “but he’s not even sixteen yet!”

The trio erupts into squabbling, mentioning Arthur’s promotion to sentinel under Elder Rhodes, about the young man’s promise, his dedication, his legacy. How it is a Maxson’s duty to assume the seat of High Elder, how promoting Arthur to elder could be the push they needed to reunite with the Outcasts, to reestablish themselves in the eyes of the West Coast Brotherhood, to get their chapter of the Brotherhood back to its true values after years of aiding settlements and protecting the citizens of the Capital Wasteland.

To Amelia and Danse, it seems like their minds are made up. Plus, if the West Coast wants Arthur to be elder, it’s probably in the best interest if their chapter doesn’t disagree. Amelia wants to know if Arthur knows, if he plans to accept. He has to, right? It is, after all, his duty as a Maxson, like one of the Proctors said. It’s not like he can feasibly deny the promotion – who would?

When the evening rolls around, Amelia tries to think of how to bring up what she overheard to Arthur as he joins her and Danse for dinner. Danse, thankfully, does it for her.

“The proctors were talking earlier. They’re trying to figure out who is next in line now that Rhodes is out,” Danse mentions casually, stuffing his mouth with grilled corn.

“Proctor Quinlan approached me earlier this evening. He said it’s not set in stone, but Lost Hills wants me for the position,” Arthur confirms, leaning in close so his voice doesn’t carry. “It makes sense, I guess. None of the proctors are suited for that responsibility, and I’m pretty much next in line anyway, since Rhodes promoted me to sentinel.”

The stoic way he mentions it to them makes Amelia catch onto Arthur’s trepidation quickly. She makes it a point to ask later, when the two of them are alone. She doesn’t think Arthur would feel comfortable discussing such matters in front of Danse.

She smiles to herself as she realizes that she’s the only one that the future elder could truly confide in.

During one of their many outings – a very warm night that they decided to dedicate to swimming – Arthur had gone into great detail about his uncertainty concerning his legacy. He had gotten so upset that he was shaking, and Amelia had toweled him off, holding him as he trembled. He told her that he didn’t want to spend his life analyzing his every move, deciding his actions based upon whether future generations would idolize him as they had his ancestors. Amelia had never known such a pressure, so she simply patted him down with the towel and gave him a change of clothes, and he had held her again that night, in the same way he did after she confessed her reason for joining the Brotherhood.

When dinner finishes, Amelia is to report to Proctor Ingram for polishing duty; the one good thing from Elder Rhodes’ short-lived term was the haste at which he had sent teams out to scavenge for airship parts, which meant that a lot of power armor is coming back in various states of disrepair.

Arthur begs her to ditch, to come out to the range with him, to get away from the increasingly watchful eyes of the proctors. As much as Amelia wants to, she knows that her duties come first, and it is with a sad smile that she lets Arthur down. Even though she knows he needs to get out his frustrations – whether it be taking aim on the range or just ranting to her as she combs her fingers through his hair (something that started not long after the night they went swimming) – Amelia has responsibilities in the Brotherhood, too. She promises she will make it up to him, that there will be many more nights they would be able to spend out on the range together.

She doesn’t realize that the frequency of those nights is already dwindling down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this was sort of fillery, I promise that the next chapter is a good one! Please feel free to comment with criticism and all that good stuff. Thank you for reading!!


	4. The Worst is Yet to Come

As August draws to a close, everyone in the Citadel knows of Arthur’s looming promotion. Only a few of the soldiers have doubts, most have faith in him, in his track record, his legacy. Amelia and Arthur were pointedly making more time for each other, going to bed late and waking up early, spending time on the range, in his quarters, wherever they can be alone. The two began sitting closer, their conversations a little less playful, less carefree, less youthful as Arthur starts to heed responsibility.

Amelia notices the gap growing between them as Arthur’s birthday approaches. On the day of his sixteenth birthday, Arthur Maxson will take his rightful place as elder, and Amelia, as much as she wants to deny it, knows that their outings will become sparse as he assumes his role; knows that he will be discouraged from fraternizing with someone of a significantly lesser rank, of lesser blood. She’s seen it coming since Arthur and her first started growing close.

The night before his birthday, Amelia, Danse, and Haylen are all sitting down at dinner, conversing over portions of Pork & Beans, waiting for the soon-to-be-elder to join them. Arthur has been pointedly absent from mealtime for the past week; he told Amelia a few nights ago that he has been in discussions with the proctors on the appointment ceremony, on what to do with the Outcasts, on how they hope his rise to elder would be the push they need to reconnect with Lost Hills.

Danse and Haylen are engrossed in conversation with each other about the next day’s ceremonies, about how grateful they are for a day off. The proctors have granted everyone the day free from duty in order to see the last of the Maxson’s assume his duty as elder, a historic moment for the Brotherhood. Construction is set to begin upon the airship within the month, so scavenge teams have been picking through the ruins in both D.C. and the area surrounding Adams Air Force Base; everyone, from initiate to proctor, is exhausted and a day off will be a much welcome luxury.

Amelia excuses herself after finishing her plate, citing that she is exhausted and wants to turn in early. The sun might have just begun setting, but she and Arthur were out until sunrise that morning. Last night he had been wracked with sobs, doubtful of himself, of his ability to lead. The scribe had held him, his back propped up against her chest as they lay back against the wall they used for the range. She had soothed his muscles, calming Arthur down enough to the point that he had nodded off in her arms. Amelia’s heart had fluttered as she combed her fingers through his hair; when he was asleep, the stresses of the Brotherhood didn’t taint him and he looked younger, innocent. Like a fifteen year old, not a child pushed too quickly into adulthood.

Amelia is just about to drop down onto her bed when she notices a note on top of her pillow. In scrawled letters, it reads:

_Meet me at the window sill after sundown. Wear something dark. – A_

 

\------

 

Amelia sits underneath the window sill for almost two hours, well past sundown. After nodding off a few times, she considers getting up and leaving to find slumber on her mattress instead of on an uneven concrete floor. When she's weighing her options, she hears footsteps clambering over debris, indicating her friend has finally decided to join her.

Arthur rounds the corner, an apologetic smile on his face when he sees her. He rushes to her side, kneeling down and pulling her into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, chin hooking over Amelia’s head. “Ingram had to finish tailoring the robes, and for whatever reason that took fuckin’ forever.”

Amelia nods, lazily returning the hug. When Arthur pulls away he extends an arm towards her, pulling his friend to her feet. Amelia brushes the dirt off the back of her legs, jokes about how ridiculous he's going to look in those blue elder's robes. That earns her a soft shove to the shoulder which she returns, Arthur exaggerating how forceful the shove was. She laughs at his triteness before gesturing to the window.

“We going out tonight?”

Arthur shakes his head, smiling widely as he tugs on her arm, pulling her back the way he came in.

“I have something else in mind.”

And then he’s got hold of her hand, running with her through the destroyed halls. He makes a right turn where they usually make a left, helps Amelia climb across unfamiliar litter piles, over broken desks, up dilapidated staircases.

They reach the end of a hallway and Arthur pulls open a door to what looks to be a rather large office space. He pushes her gently through the doorway, following her and approaching the double doors in the room, barricaded by an old desk. Shoving the desk away effortlessly, he pulls open the doors, their wooden base scratching against the linoleum floor.

“C’mon!” Arthur whispers excitedly, hands gesturing to Amelia to follow him as he steps out the doors.

Amelia follows him, stepping onto the old balcony. She can see the lights from Rivet City, can see the old Washington Monument looming in the distance, can see the lights from the Citadel reflecting onto the Potomac. She walks forward, leans her arms against the railing, careful not to rely too much on it – who knows how stable it is after all these years.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Arthur whispers, stepping beside her.

“Everything almost looks, normal.”

Arthur laughs. “Yeah, until you see the super mutants running around across the river. Look over to the right a bit.”

He digs in his bag, pulling out a pair of binoculars, hands them over to Amelia who looks over in the direction he indicated. Sure enough, there are three super mutants standing around a fire, eating some sort of raw meat. She looks away before she gets too grossed out, passing the binoculars off to Maxson.

He rummages through his bag a little more, pulling out his laser rifle, attaching a scope, looking at her mischievously. “Wanna take ‘em out?”

Amelia’s never used a rifle with a scope before. She’s intrigued though, and notices that the night is very quiet – no wind, no Brotherhood patrols, no one but the two of them and the super mutant camp down the way. Tonight is as good of a night as ever to learn, she supposes.

With a smile, Arthur hands her the rifle, instructs her to prop herself up, use the balcony to anchor her. He’s reiterating the instructions he gave her on how to shoot a rifle, telling her to be careful, watch her face for the recoil. Tells her to breathe easily, hold her breath when she’s ready for the shot. Don’t worry about aiming for the head, aim for center of mass, where there’s a greater chance of hitting the target.

She’s evening her breathing, has got one of the super mutants in her scope, the one who has stepped slightly outside of the group. She waits until he’s turned ever so slightly towards her, holds her breath, pulls the trigger.

Hits him right in the throat.

The super mutant drops, burn marks littering his torso. Amelia’s eyes widen – she can’t believe she hit the mutant in the first place, let alone killed the beast. It’s the first thing she’s killed besides radroaches. The other super mutants come over to investigate; seeing their brother dead only enrages them. Amelia nervously fires again, grazing the shoulder of another one.

“Calm down. Deep breath, recalculate,” Arthur’s whisper is laced with excitement. Amelia peeks over at him, sees him watching through his binoculars with a smile on his face. His enthusiasm only eggs her on; she focuses back in on the scope.

Amelia picks off the remaining two super mutants with five shots, missing two of them and having to shoot one of the mutants twice. When the camp is cleared, she pulls away from the scope, wordlessly passing the rifle back to Arthur as she lies down on her back, eyes still wide.

“That… was _amazing_! You’re a natural,” Arthur says, rolling on his side to face her after he’s put the rifle away. “You just took out a super mutant camp from like a half mile away.”

Amelia turns towards him, adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

“Yeah, that was pretty cool,” Amelia agrees, her voice full of excitement.

“Wow,” Arthur says, rolling onto his back from his crouching position.

Amelia can feel the blood rushing through her veins. Her heart’s still beating rapidly, doesn’t seem like it’s going to slow down any time soon.

Amelia stands up, not able to stand lying down anymore. She’s pacing the terrace, shaking out her hands, rolling her shoulders, a bounce in her step. She’s breathing excitedly, a smile on her face as she goes over the way she was able to pick them off in quick succession, how powerful she feels after getting rid of those bastards.

“We should, we should go inside,” Amelia says, pacing back in forth in front of Arthur, who’s sitting back on his hands.

“Are you okay?”

Amelia takes a breath, stops moving, looks at Arthur.

“I’m fuckin’ great.”

He laughs at the explicative, pulls himself up and follows Amelia inside. She turns to him once the doors are shut and strolls up to him, throwing her arms around his figure.

“Thank you,” Amelia whispers, arms tightening around Arthur’s waist as she buries her head in his chest. “For everything.”

Arthur’s arms circle her waist as he pulls back, looking her in the eyes, his smile straightening into a thin line. A blush creeps up Amelia’s cheeks as Arthur’s blue eyes pierce her own. She smiles, bites her lip, looks away, but Arthur’s gaze is unwavering. The scribe tries to separate herself from him, but his arms keep her in place.

“Arthur…”

And then he’s kissing her.

His arms tighten around her waist as the pressure of his lips increases. Amelia doesn’t return the kiss at first; instead her eyes widen, her breath catching in her throat. Arthur pulls back, sees how wide-eyed she is, and immediately starts to second guess his actions, letting go of her as she steps out of his grip.

“Amy – Amelia, I’m sorry, I didn’t, I don’t, I mean-”

Amelia’s kissing him this time, unrelenting as her hands grasp his neck, pulling him down so she can press her lips harder against his. Arthur’s hands slide to her hips as her hands weave into his short hair.

The two share their first kiss in the darkness of the old office. Everything is still as they hold their lips together. It’s awkward, sure, neither one doing much besides pressing their lips to the other’s because they’re not really sure what to do. Amelia pulls a little on Arthur’s hair and he groans; the noise is so out of place in the silence that Amelia jumps back, releasing her grip and averting her eyes when Arthur tries to catch her eye.

The two are silent as they catch their breath, Amelia refusing to look back at Arthur until she’s composed herself. _Why the hell did she do that?_

There are plenty of logical reasons why that happened, she tells herself as she runs her hands through her long blonde hair. She was hopped up on adrenaline from the night’s previous activities; she’s never been kissed so she was curious as to how such actions proceed. She’s just trying to justify it to herself so she can justify it to Arthur. But she knows that as much as she wants to find the logical reason, she has to be honest with herself.

She loves Arthur.

The realization almost knocks her off her feet, and she falls back against the desk in the room to catch herself. She doesn’t know how long that’s been true for, but the feeling swelling in her gut seems comparable with all the love stories she’s read. Arthur makes her feel safe; he treats her like an equal, like she matters. He cares about her enough to go out of his way to spend time with her, to break the rules for her. She realizes that all those times she caught herself looking at Arthur for too long, the times she was fixated on way his eyebrows knit together when he’s focusing, the butterflies that swarmed her stomach every time he touched her – she realizes now that the feeling has been love all along. Maybe it doesn’t make sense for her to have fallen in love with someone so out of her league but she realizes that this has been formulating inside of her for months, maybe since the two met, if not a short time thereafter.

She’s smiling, covering her face in her hands as she tries to avoid getting overwhelmed. She can feel Arthur’s uncertainty as he stands merely inches from her, as he leans over her to figure out if she’s crying, if he should comfort her or not. And then when her hands drop to her knees he sees that she’s smiling and he scoops her up in his arms, pulls her to his chest, buries his face in her hair and breathes in the smell of soap and ash and dust and everything that composes who she is.

The two hold each other for what feels like hours, exchanging soft pecks, hands committing the feel of each other to memory, and when they break away Arthur looks at his pocket watch, sees that they’ve been out for almost three hours and the time is approaching midnight. He doesn’t want to leave the comfort of this room, doesn’t want to have to face the reality of his promotion tomorrow. He just wants to stay here with his best friend, the girl he’s grown to love; he wants to stay here where he can kiss Amelia, hold her, acquaint himself with her intimately. He wants to explore her in ways he’s only dreamt about, ways he’s never let himself think about consciously out of respect for her, respect for their age, their roles, their situation.

He’s trying to retain his self-control, but it’s hard when she’s here, looking at him with those pale blue eyes, a soft smile on her face. It’s hard not to ask for more when he’s already been given so much.

He turns to kiss her again, her lips pressing against his with a little more urgency than previous. His arms wind themselves tightly around her back as he lifts her onto the desk, leaning over her as he tries to deepen the kiss, lips sliding between hers without grace.

Amelia’s taken aback at just how easily Arthur’s able to lift her onto the desk, her hands roaming over his biceps as she allows herself to feel the muscles like she’s been wanting to for months, since he started to really bulk up. She sighs into Arthur’s mouth as his lips slip between hers, the two barely even breaking apart for air. She tries to focus on Arthur, focus on the warmth of his hands on her hips, the taste of his lips, the scratch of his chin where he’s finally starting to grow facial hair.

The logical part of her brain distracts her from what’s at hand; she feels like she’s the luckiest girl in the wasteland, but how long can that feeling last? She knows that they can’t stay like this forever, knows that they’ll have to leave seclusion, return to the real world where they’re just friends. She’s not sure if she can handle ignoring what’s happening tonight, addressing it only when they’re alone, especially because she knows their alone time will be dissipating once Arthur assumes his seat as elder tomorrow.

The scribe goes to pull away, tries to tell Arthur her fears, her concerns, how she wants to enjoy this but the logical side of her brain won’t let her. Instead, his eyes catch hers and she sighs, burying her head in his chest like she loves to do.

“What are we going to do, Arthur?” she asks, hands twisting around his back.

“I don’t know Amy,” Arthur starts, resting his cheek on the top of her head as he runs his thumbs over her lower back. He takes a minute to think about his next words, to formulate just how to tell Amelia he cares about her. “I think that, I mean, you’re really, we could – damn it.”

Arthur stumbles over his words, runs his hand over his face as he tries to compose himself. One of Amelia’s hands leaves his hip to run fingers over his cheek, and Amelia doesn’t say anything, just looks Arthur in the eyes to reassure him of his next move. It’s the warmth in those eyes, the small smile that graces her lips as she starts running her fingers through his hair, it’s those little signs of affection that push Arthur to say what he needs to.

“Amelia, I love you. I’m pretty sure – no, I _know_ that I do. And if you don’t feel the same then we can pretend this didn’t happen and we can leave this room and-”

Amelia’s breath hitches at his confession; knowing that he feels the same is a weight lifted off her chest. Unfortunately, it’s only a pound or two off the metaphoric ton that’s already weighing on her. She cuts him off.

“I don’t – I don’t want to be a secret, Arthur. I – I care for you. I want… whatever this is. I just, I know after tonight that things aren’t going to be the same.” She hushes Arthur as he tries to interject, her finger pressing against his lips before she runs it down his cheek. “You can say that things aren’t going to change, but we know they will. We won’t be able to spend nights in your quarters anymore. There won’t be time to spend on the range, or up here. You’ll be too preoccupied for someone of my rank. And god knows the proctors will do everything in their power to keep you from me. I just don't want to be alone again.”

“This, whatever this is, doesn’t have to be a secret. When I’m elder, no one is going to be able to tell me where to go or who to be seen with. I love you, Amelia. I want to be with you and I don’t care what anyone says. No matter what role I assume in the Brotherhood I will always love you. I won’t let a change in rank take you away from me,” Arthur’s voice is booming, his fingers digging into her hips almost painfully as the words echo the room.

Amelia sighs, leans her head against his chest wordlessly. Arthur’s grip only tightens as he draws in a deep breath, whispers in her hair:

“I love you. You won't ever be alone, I promise.”

 

\------

 

The next morning, the Citadel is decked out, makeshift decorations littering the walls of the bailey. All the brothers and sisters are in their best uniforms, pressed and cleaned as well as they can be. Everyone in the East Coast Brotherhood, aside from a few soldiers remaining at the air force base to protect it, is gathered in the bailey where the initiates have constructed a makeshift stage. Upon the stage stand the three proctors, Head Scribe Rothchild, and Arthur; Amelia stands towards the front of the crowd, Danse on her right, Haylen on Danse’s right.

The young scribe feels like she’s going to be sick. Arthur’s face is too serious, his eyebrows knitted together as he stands behind Quinlan while the proctor addresses the crowd. Quinlan sings Arthur’s praises, tells the crowd a story they all have memorized – of Arthur’s journey from orphaned squire to elder, of his achievements in bringing down a deathclaw alone at 14, the reminder of which still graces his face to this day. _The scar she traced with her fingertips last night while their lips slid against each other’s; the scar she kissed while he laughed at one of his own jokes._ Quinlan tells of Arthur’s triumph over the Shepherd at 15, _the night they first met_ , how he is taking his rightful place as elder on his 16th birthday. Amelia tries to hold herself together as she avoids looking at the stage, at how serious Arthur looks when she’s so accustomed to seeing him at ease.

She starts to feel faint, almost losing her footing as Danse reaches out to stabilize her as she closes her eyes, willing herself to regain composure. The knight’s arm circles her shoulders, pulling her to his side as he whispers about how proud he is, how proud she must be of her _best friend_. Tears rise in her cheeks and she wants to tell Danse what happened last night, wants him to understand that watching Arthur on the stage is tearing her apart, inside and out.

Quinlan’s finished his speech, steps back as Ingram and Arthur step forward. Ingram unfurls the blue elder’s robes, places them on Arthur’s shoulders as he pulls his arms through, buckles the large belt around his center. Amelia wants to laugh at how ridiculous he looks with the collar pulled over the back of his neck, with his black t-shirt poking out of the top of the robes. She wants so badly to find the humor in the situation, but all she feels is pain.

It’s when Quinlan gives a haughty “long live Elder Maxson!” that she loses it, turning to bury her head in Danse’s chest as she cries. The knight is confused by her actions, patting the young scribe’s back as she wets his fatigues with her tears. Danse looks at Haylen in confusion, lets the young woman take Amelia into her arms and comfort her like only a fellow woman could, lets Amelia sob into the red fabric of her scribe robes.

The bailey has erupted into excitement, some people trailing off to the open bar and buffet, others rushing to congratulate the young elder, others mingling amongst each other, exchanging tales of their experiences with the youngest Brotherhood elder ever.

Haylen pats Amelia’s hair, whispers that everything is okay, that Amelia can cry it out if need be, asks Amelia if she wants to go somewhere more private. Amelia tries to compose herself, wipes away her tears as Danse excuses himself to the bar.

“I want to talk to him,” Amelia decides, and Haylen hugs the small girl before giving her a small encouraging push towards the stage where Arthur stands, stoic as ever, thanking those who shake his hand. She tries to file in line, thinks about how ridiculous it is to have to stand in line to talk to her best friend. She’s next to congratulate him, catching his eye as she wills herself not to kiss him here, in front of everyone. Arthur’s thinking the same thing, about how he could make things easy for the both of them if he just scooped her up in his arms right here, decorum be damned. He smiles at her, goes to say her name, to tell her that he loves her and wants her to be the one standing beside him. He’s interrupted by Quinlan, who pulls him aside, tells him they have matters to discuss before the dinner ceremony.

When Arthur looks back down, Amelia is gone.

 

\------

 

Over the next week, Amelia tries as best as she can to keep her relationship with Arthur alive. She tries to go to his new quarters – the room just down the hall from his previous quarters – during the day and is turned away by the knight posted outside the door.

She tries to approach him at mealtimes, but Arthur is constantly surrounded by the proctors, Rothchild, and a few other high ranking officers.

She tries to go to his quarters at night when no one stands guard, knocks on the door multiple times with no answer before she retires.

She makes a delivery to his office one day for Ingram, dumping a few files on his desk concerning the plan for the airship. He’s nowhere to be found, and Amelia sighs, deciding to try one last thing. She pulls out a blank page from the medieval history book she’s been lugging around, scribbles a note for Arthur and places it face down on top of the files. It tells Arthur to meet her at the window sill, _their_ window sill, after dinnertime any day. That she’ll be there between 2000 and 2200 hours each night, if he still wants to be friends. She tries to emphasize the word friends, because she’s not sure if they can be more than that at this time being. She asks him to leave her a sign, a note, relay some sort of message to her if he isn’t able to make it.

She heads to the windowsill that night, brings a pillow with her so she can get some reading done while she waits.

He doesn’t come the first night. Or the night after that.

Amelia leaves a bottle of Nuka Cola for him on the third night, tucks a note that says “I love you” into the label.

She comes back the next night and the bottle is still there, the note untouched.

She allows Arthur another week, leaves the full bottle there in hopes that he’ll take it as a sort of acknowledgement for her existence.

The bottle starts to collect dust.

After two weeks of spending her nights at the window sill, Amelia stops trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a roller coaster from start to finish, but I couldn't really separate it out without it feeling awkward. I tried really hard to make everything seem realistic and natural between the two, so I hope you guys enjoyed this!! This is just the tip of the iceberg I promise ;)


	5. You Won't Know

The first few months after Arthur’s promotion are hard on the both of them. Amelia buries herself in her work, barely allowing herself time to eat and sleep let alone time to think. She works primarily under Ingram’s wing, but after finding out about her passion for history, Proctor Quinlan starts asking for her help. She ends up being a sort of floater between the three Orders, pushing herself to learn more, to do as much as she possibly can. To those who ask, she chalks up her newfound busyness to finally finding her place in the Brotherhood. Only Haylen and Danse know the truth.

Her relationship to her two peers grows strong, and three months after Arthur’s promotion she breaks down, telling the knight and scribe everything that happened between her and Arthur that night on the terrace. Haylen holds her through it, while Danse rolls over the situation in his head. On one hand, fraternization between elder and scribe would be a huge violation of Brotherhood conduct. On the other hand, he hates to see his friend like this, finds himself angry at Arthur for hurting Amelia but sympathetic for Arthur’s intentions.

After everything’s in the clear, Amelia feels a little lighter, the weight of the memory no longer upon her shoulders at every moment of the day. She refuses to ease up on the work, tiring herself out night after night so she’s too tired to dream. When she does dream, she’s plagued with visions of a life with Arthur, a life like the one she’s read in books, with teenagers like themselves going roller skating and making out at the movies, not testing weapons or controlling armies.

The new elder finds himself just as restless as the scribe; when he’s not doing paperwork he’s issuing orders, planning recon missions, approving or denying various requests, finding jobs for the recently reintegrated members of the Outcasts, and he also finds himself lying awake most nights, too exhausted to sleep. He tries to tire himself, spends the evenings that he actually has downtime working out with Danse, practicing his skills on the shooting range inside the Citadel, occasionally prying over old books picked from the library they’ve started organizing in laboratory. No matter what he does, he can’t get his mind off of Amelia.

She never really escapes his thoughts, conscious or not, and that’s why six months after he’s promoted to elder, the day after Amelia’s 16th birthday, he transfers both Amelia and Haylen to Adams, the two of them taking Scribe Faris’s place as she and the rest of Paladin Brandis’ squad travel to the Commonwealth. Arthur doesn’t even have the dignity to face Amelia, to tell her of the transfer himself. Instead he tells the newly appointed Head Scribe Jameson to relay the information to the pair and stares longingly at the vertibird that carries her away from the Citadel. From him.

They don’t speak a word to each other over the next three years.

Nearly three years later, around two dozen organized Enclave sympathizers get ahold of a dilapidated yet functional vertibird and crash it into the main gate of the Citadel on an otherwise silent June night. Almost forty Brotherhood lives are lost in the crash and the battle that follows. The Citadel is ransacked, and even though no Enclave sympathizers make it out alive, the already decaying building lays in ruins. Arthur decides a month later – two weeks before his nineteenth birthday – to move the entire chapter to the former air force base permanently. It works out; since more and more soldiers have been assigned to the air base, the infrastructure is already well equipped to handle the additional hundred or so members.

He had assigned one of the former Outcast leaders, Kells, to oversee the air base shortly after the Outcasts rejoined the chapter, which happened a little over a year after Arthur became elder. Arthur has Knight-Captain Cade, one of his most trusted advisors, keep a close eye on Kells, but Arthur has little doubts that the man would betray him. Kells and Cade had set up a makeshift office in the old air control tower in the years that followed, and when the relocation happens, Arthur procures the tower for himself and the rest of his advisors. He helps turn the tower and the surrounding building into offices for Kells, Cade, Jameson, and the three proctors.

Arthur claims the cab of the tower as his own. After spending two days lugging desks up the stairs, Arthur finally has a room akin to the Great Hall back in the Citadel, with a circle of old desks constructing a meeting space for the elder’s advisors. Moving the desks was no easy feat, but two power-armored knights, himself, and Danse managed to get it done without too much of a hassle. Arthur knows he could have easily ordered his subordinates to move the desks without his help, but he has been feeling restless as of late. Everyone had arrived at the air base safely one week prior, and since Arthur allowed Cade and Kells to handle the reorganization of the base, he’s had a little too much time to sit around and think.

In the weeks following the fall of the Citadel, Arthur finds himself starved of sleep, struggling to cope with the guilt. Not sleeping isn’t something new to him – he’s averaged around three hours of sleep every night since assuming his post as elder – it’s just that now, his sleep is restless, plagued with nightmares and unrest. He’s started drinking more frequently, opting for a couple glasses of liquor each night in hopes of quelling his demons. Some nights the alcohol helps, numbing him until he can sleep without the images of his fallen comrades creeping into his subconscious.

Other nights, it only serves to worsen his condition, adding to his doubts, his fears. Sometimes it reminds him of Amelia, and it’s on those nights he often finds himself huddled in various corners and crevices, wracked with sobs. He doesn’t allow himself to cry sober – no, he’s got an image to uphold and with his open door policy he can’t allow himself to be caught exhibiting weakness. As infrequent as those nights are, he feels them for _days_ , a hollow feeling consuming him, reminding him that things could probably have been different if he would have just had the guts to face her those years ago. He was just so afraid of rejection, of abusing his power, of blurring the lines between his personal life and his elder duties.

Tonight, though, tonight’s drinking is making Arthur uneasy. He’s anxious in the heat that consumes the cab. He can’t seem to stand still, finds himself pacing the floor as sweat drips down his brow in a constant stream. The thick material of the old mechanic jumpsuit he’s wearing scratches at his body, and he pulls his arms out of it, letting them hang around his waist. He takes a swig from the bottle of vodka on his desk, his fourth or so of the night. The elder groans in the silence as sweat pours down his naked chest, and he quickly locks the door to his quarters before ridding himself of the jumpsuit completely. Even when it drops to the floor, Arthur’s still hot, taking another swig of the warm vodka in hopes that it’ll put him to sleep faster.

Instead of making him sleepy like he hoped, the alcohol makes his head spin, opening the flood gates on the wall he’s constructed to maintain his image as the Brotherhood’s leader. His doubts, his mistakes, his troubles swim through his brain, reminding him that the attack on the Citadel was unequivocally his fault. No matter how much Danse or Ingram tries to tell him otherwise, he knows it was, knows that people died because he grew too comfortable, allowed the Brotherhood to let their guard down.

It’s because of him that nearly a quarter of his subordinates died, that the entire chapter was forced to relocate, that things were going to fall behind on the construction of the airship. He reminds himself of that too often, wants to make sure nothing like it ever happens again. The attack on the Citadel came right at a point when Arthur was starting to feel confident in his abilities as elder, after nearly three years of holding the post. It seemed like the universe has a habit of screwing him when he finally starts to find happiness – first with Amelia, and then the Citadel.

When Amelia crosses his mind, it feels like he’s been struck by a falling vertibird. His eyes close, a scowl on his face as he takes another swig from the bottle, holding it close to him as he approaches his bed. He throws the blankets off the mattress and sits on it, the increasing stuffiness of the room making the thoughts of his former best friend hurt even more.

He can almost feel her dark blonde hair tickle his chin, can hear her laughter, see her smiling like she did that night on the terrace. He hasn’t seen her in so long; all he remembers is what she was like three years ago. Arthur realizes after a minute that she’d be 18 now, same as him, realizes that she’s probably a completely different person now, in both personality and physicality. Arthur knows he is.

His hand comes up to scratch at the unkempt beard that he’s grown. It adorns his face mostly because he’s been too stressed out to even think about how he looks, but also because one of the initiates told him that the beard makes him look older, more authoritative, and he’s all about making others perceive him as the leader he’s trying to be.

The beard is just one of many physical changes that’s come to Arthur in the past couple years. All the nights of working out with Danse have paid off and the young elder is bulky enough to be intimidating now. He remembers how Amelia had run her hands over his biceps when he kissed her, back when he was first starting to really bulk up, wonders if she’d be impressed with how he looks now.

_If she’d even care._

He grunts as the thought consumes him, takes another drink from the bottle. All he’s wanted since he became elder is to be someone she’d be proud of. Since he sent her away, all he’s thought about is their reunion, how he’ll present himself to her when they finally meet again. It’s one of the reasons he’s so focused on his body: he wants to be _wanted_ by her.

He knows the maturity of his body hasn’t gone unnoticed; he often hears the female soldiers under his command talk about him, about how he’s attractive, untouchable, intimidating. Danse has relayed stories about girls lusting after him, about how some girls think he’s a _confirmed bachelor_ because he of his lack of interest in them. Arthur’s been tempted _many_ times by young initiates and established soldiers alike, sure, but he could never bring himself to act upon their flirtations. Not only would it be unbecoming of his rank, but knows he couldn’t bring himself to engage with any of them, not with Amelia always consuming that part of his mind.

He tilts his head back as he lays on the bed, lets the liquor run down his throat as he reminds himself that she might not even want him anymore. Danse has never mentioned Amelia finding someone else, but that doesn’t mean that she hasn’t given up hope for the two of them.

Arthur could never give up on her, though.

He tried, oh did he try, to forget about her. He got rid of everything that reminded him of her, from the chessboard they shared to the sheets she used when she would spend the night in his quarters. He even traded away the rifle she used _that night_ , had ditched the bulky elder’s robes because they reminded him of the pale blue of her eyes.

It hadn’t made any difference.

Instead of forgetting her, he started finding her in the most obscure places, from the poor stances of the initiates as they learned how to fire a pistol to the roughness of his hands when they’d comb through his own hair, such a stark contrast from Amelia’s soft ones.

Arthur takes another swig from his bottle. Maybe if he gets drunk enough, he can pretend Amelia’s here with him. He takes a drink. And another.

He’s almost downed half the bottle, trying through the haze to visualize how he thinks Amelia would look now. Her hair, he guesses, would be longer, the dark blonde strands reaching just below her ribs, kept in a tight bun as she carries out her duties. He imagines how she’s filled out, how adulthood has likely graced her with curves and breasts and hair in forbidden places.

Arthur shifts around on the bed, going to lie on his stomach; doing so is easier said than done because of how uncomfortable it is to lay face down, and he realizes with a groan that it’s because his body has graced him with a boner. Fantastic.

Arthur rolls onto his back as he just sort of stares down at his half-erect dick. He glares at it like that’ll make a difference, and he tries to remember when the last time he was able to get hard at all, let alone find pleasure from it. He’s been so stressed out that his teenage desires have been pushed to the back burner. But tomorrow is his designated day off, and when he realizes that there’s probably no one in the tower at all, that there’s definitely no one who’s going to come in this late at night – it’s then that he pushes his briefs down, his cock coming to rest on his stomach.

He’s still drunk, so when he wraps his hand around himself it’s pretty lax, and when he tries to muster up the strength to move his arm it doesn’t come at first. Furrowing his brows, the young elder curls his fingers tighter, and _there_ is the right amount of pressure.

He laughs quietly to himself as he’s finally able to get down to it, easing his palm up and down himself as his fingers tighten on each upstroke. He tries not to, but he thinks about Amelia, about that night on the terrace, on how he wishes he could have done more than kiss her that night. He’d wanted to, no doubt about it, wanted to run his hands under the black t-shirt she had been wearing, wanted to dip his fingers below her waistband and tease her. He didn’t though, partly because he was afraid of rejection but also because they were both blushing virgins and he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

He spits a little on his hand, returns it to his dick as he wonders if she’s a virgin still, if she has taken up with one of their colleagues or if she preferred to take care of herself, similar to what Arthur was doing now. He almost moans at the thought of Amelia pleasing herself, her small, soft hands rubbing at her clit, dipping inside for just long enough to tease herself. The way her mouth would fall open as the pressure would build inside of her, how she’d spread her legs open in hopes of getting a better angle on herself.

In his mind’s eye, he sees her reaching her unoccupied hand up to cup her breast, squeezing it in her hand as she nears her peak. Arthur’s almost at his own now, and it’s when he inserts himself into the fantasy; when he leans over her body to contribute a finger to her pleasure, to flick his tongue against her folds, it’s then that he spills into his fist, gasping as he rides out the orgasm.

He sits there for a few minutes, hand still wrapped around his softening cock. He’s equally parts sated and disgusted with himself, disgusted that he fantasized about the girl who probably wants nothing to do with him. He cleans himself off with the underwear that’s bunched around his thighs, throwing it onto the ground as he rolls onto his side, willing sleep to take him before he can feel the guilt from his actions.

 

\------

 

It’s about a week later, the day after Arthur’s nineteenth birthday, that the seven members of the council are in the conference room, discussing operations aboard the airship once construction finishes. They’ve come to an agreement that the airship needs its own designated crew so when it eventually goes mobile, there may be a full crew both aboard the ship and on the ground to remain at Adams.

Arthur has already named Kells to the post of captain on the airship, with proctors Ingram and Quinlan both volunteering to station themselves aboard. While the proctors begin discussing other scribes to be assigned to the ship, Arthur zones out, his attention only returning when he hears Amelia’s name thrown into the mix.

“Scribe Dirthe? What would her role be aboard the ship?” Arthur asks, trying to seem nonchalant, to remain formal in his questioning. His hand scratches at his beard, trying to hide the blush that creeps its way up his neck when Amelia’s name is mentioned.

“As to her actual tasks, I’m not certain. I would, however, suggest that she be instated as a senior scribe. She’s already working harder than any of the other senior scribes, has been devoting her time to becoming proficient in all three Orders, and she already has the respect of pretty much everyone. I think the promotion would just be more of a formality. I mean, the woman’s almost single-handedly formulated two plans to get the nuclear reactor from Rivet City. The construction on the ship really wouldn’t be anywhere near as on schedule if it weren’t for her constant efforts,” Ingram elaborates, sliding Amelia’s folder to the elder. He sets it on top of the folders that contain the profiles of the other soldiers who will compose the airship’s crew, making sure not to handle it differently than the others. The other two proctors and Jameson also attest to her dedication, agreeing unanimously that she is overdue for a promotion. Arthur fights a smile; he always knew Amelia was something special.

“I will see to it that she receives a promotion to senior scribe,” The elder agrees, maintaining his professionalism. “I think this is a good stopping point for today. Peabody, send in Paladin Danse. The rest of you may be dismissed. Ad victoriam.”

He pointedly flips open the folder with Amelia’s profile, as the members of the council salute him, scurrying off to the mess hall as dinner approaches. Arthur reads through her duties, her accomplishments, her ongoing projects. A recent picture of her is attached to one of the pages, and he notices that her hair is no longer long and blonde but shoulder-length and tinted red. The photo extends down to her ribs, and he notices the curve of her hips, her breasts as they fill out the scribe robes. He blushes as he looks at the picture, remembering his actions from the other night and realizing how wrong he had been about guessing her matured facial features. The shame from that night still washes over him, and he’s been avoiding alcohol at night now, in hopes of it not happening again.

His heart aches as he looks over her picture once more, and he has merely seconds to compose himself as Danse throws open the door to his room, saluting the elder at the threshold.

“At ease, paladin,” Arthur says. He tells Danse to close the door behind him before he stands from his seat, greeting Danse with a clasp on the shoulder and a smile. “It’s great to see you, Danse.”

“Likewise. Your beard’s getting long,” Danse jabs, laughing at Arthur when the younger man scoffs in response. The duo fall into familiarity then, joking about their appearances and responsibilities while Arthur allows himself to shed the formality of his role. Tonight is the first night that Danse and Arthur have seen each other since the attack on the Citadel, and Arthur’s happy that his best friend is here, happy he can unload his stresses on someone who won’t hold them against him.

Shortly after they settle into their chairs, dinnertime approaches, and Arthur sends the knight outside his office to fetch dinner for the both of them, offers Danse bourbon as they catch up.

Arthur had assigned Danse to the air force base a few months after he transferred Amelia.  
With the two of them and Haylen assigned to the air base full time, he had been increasingly lonely through the first for the first year or so of his reign. He had repeatedly cursed himself for assigning all his friends to an area so far from him. The elder had done so in a lapse of judgment in his youth, deciding at 16 that he needed to prove himself to his doubters by isolating himself, refusing to keep personal relationships. He realized that was a mistake shortly before his 17th birthday, had decided to promote Danse to paladin and have him act as an ambassador between the two bases.

When their food arrives, the two eat quickly, the conversation never lulling. When Danse mentions something funny Haylen told him, Arthur decides to bring up the topic that’s always eating at him.

“How is Amelia?” he asks, avoiding eye contact with Danse as he asks. It’s not that Danse doesn’t know about the two of them – Arthur had confided in him one drunken night, telling the paladin of his love for the scribe, the heartbreak he feels every day – it’s just that the elder is slightly ashamed of the feelings that have managed to stay in his heart for three long years. He’s embarrassed every time he asks, which is infrequent, but still uncomfortable.

“She’s been more tired than usual. You know how she is – she tries to make everything her responsibility, so she’s been helping with sleeping arrangements since the merge, and every time she finds somewhere to sleep she ends up giving it up for somebody else,” Danse chuckles. A small smile gracing Arthur’s face; it was so typical of Amelia that he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“Ingram suggested her for a promotion today – to senior scribe. Wants her to be stationed on the ship fulltime once it’s operational,” Arthur mentions through mouthfuls of noodles.

“She definitely deserves it. I swear the girl never stops working. I keep telling her she’s going to wear herself down, but she usually just shoves me out of her way to go do something else.”

Arthur finds himself jealous of Danse’s relationship with her, at the casual way he talks about Amelia, the years they’ve spent building their relationship. He wants to keep prying, but as always, he’s wary of Danse getting tired of the topic.

“She’s not sleeping well, you said? If she’s going to be stationed on the ship we’ll need her in optimum condition.” Arthur puts up his façade, expresses his concerns for her in a professional manner, even though he knows Danse sees right through him. He always has.

“I’m sure she’ll get sorted out. The relocation’s just been hard on her, is all. It’s been hard on all of us, but we’re working through it.”

Danse ends that talking point by taking a bite of his noodles, washing them down with the whiskey Arthur poured for him. The elder wants to inquire further, wants to ask if she ever talks about him, the question that lingers every time the two converse about the scribe. He doesn’t bring it up, instead switching the conversation to Danse’s aid in the relocation process. He and his friend Cutler have started up a sort of sports club to encourage team building between the established members of the Brotherhood and the array of initiates that they had hastily recruited after the attack on the Citadel, and from what Arthur understood, it was working, especially in socializing the children.

The night starts to dwindle down and when Danse yawns and expresses his intent to retire for the night, Arthur follows the paladin as he takes his leave, locking the door behind him.

Amelia’s on his mind as he clambers into bed, back in full force after seeing her picture in the folder. He has it memorized already, the way she’s grown into a woman. He no longer has to visualize the girl from his youth, instead he can dream about the woman she’s become, the curves that he could run his hands over, the angled cheeks and thin lips he could kiss.

A chill runs over his body at the thought of kissing her again, and he formulates a plan to speak to her honestly after he promotes her tomorrow. He wants to know if she thinks about him, if she still cares for him, if she _wants_ him like he so desperately wants her, to kiss her and wake up to her and make love to her, to spend their days together like they were never given the chance to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this chapter like 6 times. I still don't know if I'm happy with it, but 3 years of angst is hard to sum up in a couple paragraphs, and I didn't want to write too much about them being apart because I mean, this is a love story. Plus there was ~smut~ and I've never written a masturbation scene so if it was terrible I'm sorry :/
> 
> That being said, these next few chapters have been hell to write, so any feedback is appreciated! If something seems out of place or whatever please tell me! I can't improve if I stay the same :*


	6. We'll Meet Again

Arthur doesn’t get any sleep that night.

He spends the entire night twisting and turning, thinking about Amelia and how he’s _finally_ going to see her today. He formulates a plan to speak to her, personally, how to ask her all the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

He decides to stop fighting himself when the sunlight starts to seep in through the windows, the morning haze signaling the start of the day for the compound. The elder rolls out of bed, combs his fingers through his hair as he pulls his officer’s jumpsuit on, zipping up his bomber jacket on top. He pushes back the partition separating his quarters from his office, looking down through the broken windows of the cab, watching his army below as the soldiers emerge from the housing district. They split apart, some heading to the old storage building to grab food or work out before the day begins. Some walk towards the construction site for the ship, beginning their duties there. Arthur tries to find Danse or Amelia in the bunch, even though he knows it’s futile. After a few minutes, he decides to head to the mess hall instead of wasting more time in his quarters.

Eyes turn towards him as he strolls across the base alone; Arthur doesn’t leave the tower often due to his increasingly busy schedule. When he does travel around the base, he’s usually followed by a couple paladins or members of his council. A frown dawns his face as he enters the mess hall, an expression he wears often, not only because it gives him more of an authoritative presence but because it also usually prevents others from approaching him. He’s not up for mingling often, and definitely not today, not after his sleepless night.

He hops in line behind a couple of squires, both young girls recruited from the Capital Wasteland after the Citadel attacks. They can’t be more than 12, and Arthur tries to lighten his expression as one of them whispers to the other, points towards Arthur and looks up at him in awe.

“Good morning, squires,” his voice slipping out of its authoritative tone and into a friendlier one.

The girls giggle, turning around to grab their food quickly before stalking away, peeping over their shoulders to look back at him as they sit down to eat their meals. Arthur can’t help but smile a little, such innocence reminding him of his own years as a squire.

“Is Elder Maxson _smiling_?” a female voice teases from behind Arthur. He turns, confused, before seeing that it’s Haylen who’s teasing him.

“Haylen,” he nods towards her, his face shifting into a more neutral expression.

“Aw, don’t be like that, _sir_. If you keep frowning all the time you’re going to have wrinkles before you hit twenty,” the woman jabs. Arthur gestures to let her in front of him, grabbing his tray of food after Haylen grabs two.

“There’s not much to smile about these days, it seems,” Arthur responds, pouring two cups of coffee. He passes one to the scribe, sliding the other onto his tray.

“Sure there is. There’s a lot of good left in this world, despite how it seems lately. You just have to be willing to look for it.”

Arthur sighs, brushing off Haylen’s words of advice as he begins scanning the mess hall for an open table. Haylen notices the movement, the uncertainty in the elder’s body language.

“Come sit with us over in the corner. I’m sure we could give you something to smile about.” Haylen gestures to a corner bench, occupied by two initiates Arthur doesn’t recognize, a scribe facing away from them, and Danse. Haylen starts walking towards the table, Arthur slowly following her as he deliberates whether or not to take his meal in private or not. He’s a few feet from the table when Haylen sits beside the unidentified scribe, who lifts up their head when Haylen slides one of the trays over to them.

_It’s her._

Arthur almost drops his tray as he realizes the woman sitting beside Haylen is the one who’s been occupying his mind for the past three years. Amelia looks up, her eyes catching the elder’s as he stands there, gaping at her. Arthur can feel his heart pumping in his eardrums, can feel his cheeks tint red as his throat closes up. He knows he’s been looking at her for far too long, can feel the eyes of the others at the table on him.

He stammers out a quiet “excuse me,” as he turns away, white knuckles gripping his tray as he pushes his way out of the mess hall, almost running as he tries to get back to the tower.

That was not how he wanted his reunion with her to go.

Leaving was a stupid move, actually running away an even stupider one. An elder cannot earn the respect of his soldiers if he humiliates himself in front of them. He curses himself the entire dash up the stairs and into his office, locking the door behind him when he finally reaches the cab. When he’s safe within the confines of his office, he all but throws himself into his chair, slamming his tray on the desktop before he runs both hands through his hair, pulling at the strands.

He knows he’s going to get a mouthful from Danse later, knows he probably just made things worse for when he has to promote Amelia later today.

He humiliated himself at what was shaping up to be a nice breakfast among friends; even worse, he let himself show weakness in front of two initiates. Haylen and Danse, he was fine with, but he needed to uphold his image to those he wasn’t personal with. Running away from a woman after staring at her wasn’t exactly something he wanted ingrained into the initiates’ minds.

Arthur eats his now-cold food, drinks the bitter coffee as he continues to berate himself. When he unlocks his door after less than an hour people start filing into his office, bringing folders and stories, asking permissions and giving updates. He tries to keep things concise, trying to get people in and out without linger. He wishes he could close the door, spend the day in bed avoiding his responsibilities.

 

\-------

 

It’s around high noon, when the cab is mostly covered in shadow that Danse comes, carrying a tray with two portions through the office door and sliding one to Arthur, who’s covering his head in his hands, elbows resting on the tabletop.

Danse coughs to get the elder’s attention, and Arthur nods a silent thanks to him as he starts eating his lunch, noting that Danse also took the liberty of bringing him another cup of coffee. The two eat in silence, Arthur chewing on the rough squirrel-and-tato kabob as he tries to avoid conversation, still embarrassed from the morning’s events.

When Danse slides his plate away from him and starts on his own cup of coffee, that’s when he speaks up:

“Arthur, about this morning-”

“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur bites, and he thinks that’s going to be the end of that by the way Danse leans back in his chair, eyebrows wide as he takes in the elder’s tone. The paladin is silent for a moment, sipping from his mug before clearing his throat.

“She started crying once you left.”

That bit of information hurts Arthur more than he wants to admit, and he drops his head onto the tabletop as he lets out a deep breath, fingers curling over his knees and squeezing as he tries to compose himself.

“I couldn’t have sat down,” the elder responds, not looking up, not yet. He’s willing his own tears away now, not willing to allow even Danse to see him cry.

“You could have. It wouldn’t have fixed things between you two, but it could’ve been a start.”

“Fuck, Danse,” Arthur looks up when he’s sure that the tears are gone. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just casually sit down across from here when we haven’t spoken in three years. I, fuck, I have to promote her soon, and I can’t even push that onto someone else because it’s _my_ fucking duty. How can I even be in the same room as her after this morning?”

“Just put on your elder face and be professional with her, Arthur. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, and it doesn’t have to be awkward if you keep it strictly business,” Danse responds after sipping from his coffee. The older man’s advice is solid – of course it is, Danse is one of the most level-headed men Arthur knows. There’s just one problem.

“I don’t _want_ to be professional with her! All I’ve wanted for the past _three fucking years_ is to be _unprofessional_ with her! And I’m just going to fuck that up, like I’ve fucked up everything else between us,” Arthur’s booming voice shakes as he tries to keep his composure, fist slamming on the tabletop. He takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles before lowering his voice. “ _I love her_ , Danse. I just have no idea how to even go about that after all this time.”

Danse takes another sip of his coffee, leans forward in his chair when he sets the mug down. “She’s not going to forgive you, not right away. Probably not for a long time. But if you care about her like I know you do, then you have to push through this. But first, you need stop being afraid of her. You need to at least say _something_ , to her, Arthur. She thinks you hate her.”

Arthur’s dumbfounded by the last part. _Hate her?_ The last thing he could ever do is hate Amelia. He’s loved her practically since he met her; she’s the only person who has ever made him truly happy, who he’s fully let his guard down around.

“I’m not saying you should profess your undying love for her when you promote her later. I’m not even saying today is the best day to talk to her. I’m just saying that she’s held onto hope for this long, and if you don’t do something soon she might give up,” Danse stands, gathers up the dishes from their lunch and gets ready to leave, to report for initiate instruction. He laughs a bit as he turns to leave. “It’s funny, I’ve seen you lead men into battle, seen you yell commands like it was second nature and gun down enemies without breaking a sweat. But you’re afraid of talking to a girl who’s half your size.”

Arthur can’t help but smile a bit at that one, and he passes his empty mug to Danse as the paladin makes his exit. When he’s almost out of sight, Arthur yells after him.

“Paladin Danse,” he bellows. Danse pokes his head back into the room. “Thank you.”

Danse smiles in response, the door closing behind him as he leaves.

Arthur sighs as he kicks his feet up on the desks, rolling his shoulders to relax. He can’t promote Amelia, not today. The wounds are simply too fresh. He wants to recuperate, wants them to be able to look at each other without screaming or crying. She’s already been hurt once today – he doesn’t want to risk the chance of hurting her again.

The elder flips open Amelia’s folder, runs his thumb over her picture and closes his eyes.

_Soon._

 

\------

 

Four days later, Arthur’s council is gathered in his office to present their weekly reports. Peabody mentions that construction of the airship is almost complete, that it’s almost structurally sound enough to go airborne. For that to happen, though, they need to finalize their energy source. Ingram gives him a couple folders detailing Amelia’s plan for acquiring the reactor from Rivet City. The council combs through the details of the plans, but because there’s so much riding on them successfully obtaining the reactor, Arthur feels they should spend more time considering their options.

The elder dismisses his council once the sun starts to set, standing up to acknowledge their salutes before sitting back down in his chair, scribbling some final notes on the files. He looks up after the door is closed, sees Ingram slowly collecting her folders. She drops a couple, her mobility lessened in the power armor frame.

Arthur remembers helping to construct the frame, remembers the night Ingram was brought into the Citadel’s infirmary over five years ago. It was shortly after Arthur was promoted to knight, after Lyons had allowed him to start training with the other initiates. He was working under Cade’s command at that time, learning medical training in Lyons’ attempt to make sure he received wholesome Brotherhood training. He remembers being ejected from the infirmary when Ingram and her team were brought in, remembers reading magazines to Ingram while she recovered from her amputation. It’s the reason that he’s always felt close to the proctor, why he considers her the most trustworthy member of his council, why he even considers her a friend.

It’s with a sad smile that Arthur bends down and helps Ingram collect the papers that have spilled onto the ground, organizing them before handing them back to the proctor.

“Thank you, Elder,” she says, embarrassment present on her features as she adjusts her grip on the files. Ingram starts to make her leave, dropping one more folder on her way to the exit. Arthur rushes over to pick it up, placing it back in her stack. “Arthur, may I offer some advice concerning the reactor?”

“Please,” Arthur beckons, clasping his arms behind his back.

“I was hoping to ask you today for your permission to allow Scribe Dirthe into these discussions. As you know, she is the one who formulated the plans, and I feel her insight is crucial to obtaining the reactor in a diplomatic fashion,” Ingram starts. “However, I noticed that you haven’t promoted her yet, and I wouldn’t feel right bringing such a lowly ranked scribe into these discussions. If you don’t think that she’s deserving, we can-”

“I have been meaning to promote her, Ingram,” Arthur interrupts. “I’ve just been… a bit, um, preoccupied.”

He knows he’s making excuses; he’s been avoiding promoting Amelia because he’s afraid of facing her, afraid making a fool of himself when he’s alone with her. However, by ignoring his duty he’s doing a disservice to Amelia, and he knows that she’s more than deserving of the promotion.

“Permission to speak off the record, sir?”

Arthur’s surprised by Ingram’s request; he doesn’t get a lot of requests for people to speak candidly. He grants her the request of course, gesturing for her to continue as he makes and effort to relax his posture, leaning up against one of the desks.

“Scribe Dirthe is a terrific soldier, through and through. Perhaps one of the smartest scribes I’ve seen come through the Brotherhood. But, she’s also a wonderful person outside of her duties: compassionate, always ready to lend an open ear or a shoulder to cry on. II don’t think she’s one to hold a grudge.”

Ingram gathers her papers closer to her, stares down Maxson as his eyes go wide. Did she know? _How_ did she know? Arthur’s friendship with her before his promotion was widely known, of course, but did Ingram know that it stretched beyond friendship?

“You’re both young, sir. There’s plenty of time for second chances.”

With that, Ingram excuses herself, slips out the door while Arthur gapes after her. If Ingram knew the nature of their former relationship, did Peabody? Quinlan? Could it undermine his authority if it came to light?

He spends the evening pacing his room, skipping dinner because he has no appetite. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as he succumbs to the stress.

Before tonight, he was sure that only Danse knew the nature of his and Amelia’s relationship. He supposes he wasn’t great at masking his feelings for her – Danse himself said he knew of Arthur’s feelings for Amelia long before Arthur confessed them to him. He supposes if Danse caught on, then the proctors would have also known, seeing as they had pretty much watched Arthur’s every move after Sarah’s death. If everyone already knew, then what was the point in hiding?

He knows he can’t put it off anymore. Arthur has to talk to her tomorrow. No more excuses.

 

\-------

 

The next afternoon, Danse relays the message to Amelia, telling her she’s been summoned to the elder’s office. The color immediately drains from the scribe’s face, and she feels like she’s going to be sick. She nods a curt thanks to the paladin, swallows the bile that rises in her throat and readies herself to leave the construction site. Danse places his hand on her shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze, his silent encouragement not serving to make her feel any better. Amelia puts her welding helmet away, shoves her gloves in her waistband and runs her hands through her hair, pulling it out of the bun it’s trapped in.

The scribe is nearly shaking as she walks towards the control tower, her hands clammy with unease. She has no idea why Maxson would summon her – why today, why now? Was it because of their moment in the cafeteria, nearly a week ago? What could he possibly want from her?

Amelia’s spent three years pretending that Arthur doesn’t exist, diverting conversations away when they steer towards the elder, walking away when her peers sing his praises. She works to avoid those memories from seeping into her brain, earning the reputation of a stout workaholic by her fellow soldiers for almost never leaving the construction site, even during resting hours. She relies instead on quick naps, on coffee and cigarettes to get her through the day. Her seldom off days are usually spent catching up on sleep, and she makes sure to allow herself very little leisure time, for fear that it’ll drudge up the memories that she’s tried to bury away.

She’s spent three years putting herself back together after Arthur ripped her apart. What could he want from her after all this time?

Amelia knows Arthur’s lingering presence has only served to make it harder for her to move on. That’s why she refuses to speak his name, referring to him by his title in her head – it’s more impersonal, and if she doesn’t think about it she can pretend he’s a completely different man than the one she fell in love with.

It’s because of Maxson that Amelia has often thought about leaving the Brotherhood, mostly when the memories overwhelm her, when it feels like the pain will never end. The most recent round of deliberations has her leaving once the airship’s construction is completed, retiring to Rivet City, maybe Megaton, or maybe even transferring to one of the Midwestern branches of the Brotherhood now that they’ve reconnected with the other chapters. It’d be a shame to let all that she’s learned go to waste.

After what feels like ages of walking, Amelia pushes the door open to the tower, nods a greeting at the knight stationed at the entrance. She walks up the stairs white as a ghost, forcibly smiling at Ingram and Quinlan when they pass her by. When she reaches the elder’s floor, there’s no one standing guard outside, so she takes a few minutes to breathe, trying to regain the color in her skin, willing herself to appear strong before the man who broke her heart.

She knocks feebly, hoping it’s soft enough that the elder doesn’t hear and she can turn around, feign an excuse about how she thought he wasn’t in his office. Instead, she hears the elder’s deep voice from within:

“Come in.”

This is it. This is what the past three years have been leading up to. Amelia has no idea what’s going to meet her on the other side of the door. All she knows is that she’s not ready.

Amelia forces herself to push open the door, closing her eyes as she does so. She only opens them when she’s past the threshold, seeing Maxson hunched over his desk as he scribbles something in a folder. He hasn’t even noticed that she’s here yet. She could still flee, pretend the message from Danse never came and continue to avoid Arthur like she’s gotten so good at.

It’s when the door closes behind her that Arthur looks up, his eyes seeking hers as he sets the pencil down. Amelia avoids looking at him, knowing she won’t be able to keep her composure if she does. She doesn’t want a repeat of the other morning.

“Scribe Dirthe,” the elder acknowledges, moving to stand in front of his desk.

“Elder Maxson,” Amelia replies, weakly saluting him as she stares at a point above his head.

“I have summoned you here today to talk about your role in the Brotherhood. It has come to the proctors’ and my attention that you’ve been performing exceptional work as of late, and it’s about time we recognize that. I’m promoting you to the rank of senior scribe, in hopes that you will retain a permanent position aboard the airship once it goes mobile.”

It’s almost the same speech she heard from another elder, years ago, when she was promoted from her initiate status. The tone of voice is the same, as is the way Elder Maxson stands, legs shoulder width apart, bracing himself with his arms crossed behind his back. Amelia closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, wills her voice to be steady.

“Thank you, Elder Maxson,” she retorts after a moment, still refusing eye contact. “Will there be anything else?”

Arthur’s a little shocked at the Amelia’s blunt tone, consciously removing the scowl from his face as he attempts to look more approachable.

“I suppose not.”

Amelia dismisses herself then, forgoing a salute in hopes of getting out of the room as soon as possible. She’s pushing the door open, two steps away from freedom when Arthur calls out to her.

“ _Amelia_.”

His voice that Amelia stops in her tracks, watches the door close in front of her. She doesn’t turn to face him, not yet; instead she stares at her feet, fists curling and uncurling by her sides as she tries to relieve the tension from her body, considers whether to stay or go.

“Amelia.” This time it’s almost a whisper, and Amelia knows Arthur is close behind her now, can feel his presence even though her eyes are closed.

Amelia knows she can walk away, can push open the door and descend the stairs as a senior scribe. She would be able to honestly call the meeting a professional one when Haylen asks her about it later. A part of her, larger than she’d be willing to admit, wants to know what Arthur has to say.

It’s the second part that she listens to, turning around to face Arthur, her eyes glued to her feet. She doesn’t say anything and neither does he, and it’s when the silence starts to suffocate her that she looks up, allows herself to glance at Arthur for the first time that day.

He looks so much older than she remembers, much older than nineteen. The scar on his cheek is hidden in partial by a beard that ages him a decade, easily. His eyebrows are thick and dark, pinched together over piercing blue eyes that still manage to take Amelia’s breath away. She wants to reach out, trace her fingers over the new scar above his left eyebrow, run her hands through the uneven beard, feel his heartbeat through the jumpsuit he’s wearing.

They’re staring at each other again, too long to be comfortable by normal standards, but this, this is them really _seeing_ each other, for the first time in years. Sure, Amelia’s seen the elder when he gives speeches, when he addresses the soldiers or comes to check on the airship’s construction. But Amelia usually finds excuses not to attend, and when she does, she spends the time looking away, standing behind Danse or another taller soldier to block her view of the elder.

The longer Amelia stares at Arthur, the longer the tension in her dissipates and she can almost forgive him for all those years of neglect if he just keeps looking at her like this.

Arthur steps forward, closes the distance between the two of them, stopping only when they’re less than an arm’s length away. Amelia has to strain her neck to look him in the eyes now, and when Arthur’s lips curve into a small, sideways smile Amelia almost loses it. Tears flood her eyes and she blinks them away in desperation. She doesn’t want to taint the moment, just wants Arthur to keep looking at her, his face soft and open, nothing resembling the commanding scowl that usually dons his features.

The elder has to dig his fingers into his palms to stop himself from reaching out to grab her, denying himself the pleasure of weaving his hands into her red hair, kissing her with all his pent up affection. He’s unable to control himself completely, and he leans forward ever so slightly, his hand extending to rest on top of hers, thumb rubbing the scarred skin across her knuckles.

It’s then that Amelia snaps out of the trance that Arthur’s caught her in, and she jerks her hand away, stepping backwards.

“Amelia, please-” Arthur begs, following her as she backs away.

“No,” she responds, curling in on herself as she looks away from him. “You can’t just – fuck. I can’t let you-”

“Amy, please, can we talk?”

“No!” Amelia shouts. Arthur takes a dazed step back, rejection lacing his features as he snaps back to reality. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it again when he realizes nothing he says can make this situation any better.

Amelia looks up at him when he fails to respond, pain evident in her eyes.

“I can’t do this.”

The words are a whisper in the wind as she darts from the room. The door slams closed behind her and Arthur is left staring at where she stood, chasing after the last tethers of her presence before he collapses, dropping to his knees as tears spill from his eyes.

He let her go, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm realizing that this story is not going to wrap up in 12 chapters like I anticipated, but I'm trying to keep it below 20 so the chapters will probably be getting longer as we go along. Thanks as always for reading :*


	7. A Distant Bell and Stars that Fell

Seeing Amelia, touching her for however briefly, awakens something inside of Arthur. He no longer feels like he has to isolate himself, no longer has a reason to hide away. Instead of taking all his meals in the tower, Arthur occasionally eats in the dining hall, mostly sitting with those of higher ranks, but occasionally mingling with initiates in an attempt to keep morale high.

They see a lot more of each other after Amelia’s promotion. Arthur takes Ingram’s advice and allows Amelia into the council’s discussions concerning the reactor. She shares a desk with Quinlan, directly across from Arthur’s chair, and he often finds himself paying more attention to her than to their meetings. He’s started noticing new things about her, enraptured by the way her hair falls into her face as she writes her notes, with how confident she is when she goes over the intricate details of the plans. 

Amelia doesn’t exactly avoid the elder, but she in no way attempts to interact with him. She spends the downtime before or after the meetings lingering behind one of the proctors, contributing to casual conversation only when prompted. Maxson tries to talk to her in those instances sometimes, and while she’s cordial with him, she mostly avoids conversing. The more time she spends around him, the more she notices how different he is from the teenager she once knew. She observes how the bags under his eyes grow darker with each passing day, how he bites the tip of his pen when he’s uncertain, or how he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair when he’s listening attentively.

Falling asleep at night grows more and more troublesome, to the point that it starts to hinder her work. She falls asleep during meals, during breaks, during her office hours. Quinlan has assigned her to research the former metropolitan areas on the east coast, in hopes of expanding their territory once the ship finishes construction, and she often falls asleep on top of the maps, waking up in her chair with a crick in her neck. For once in her life she starts to fall behind and she realizes that she needs to take active measures to get herself back on track.

She ends up setting a bed up in her new office in one of the old hangars, dedicating a couple hours after lunch to rest. It works, except for the fact that she can’t sleep at any other time of the day. More than a couple times, someone has to shake her awake to drag her away to a meeting, to get her feedback on various projects. Realizing she’s becoming a hindrance on her colleagues, she starts experimenting with things to make her sleep. She tries to run, the exercise keeping her awake rather than tiring her out. She already smokes frequently to keep her focus, and when she starts doing it in greater frequency it starts to put her mind at ease. Add a bottle of wine, a book for leisure, the shuffling of feet beneath her where she’s perched on an old catwalk, and Amelia finds herself drifting to sleep easily, curled up in her bed with the quilt Ingram gifted her a few months ago, for her 18th birthday.

It’s on the catwalk that Arthur finds her one night, curled up against the railing and puffing on a cigarette. This is where Danse told him she spends her nights. After nearly a month of minimal interaction, Arthur asked the paladin his advice, Danse offering up the location of her late night excursions, advising him to clear the air, to at least get the two of them on speaking terms, if not friendly ones.

The elder approaches the catwalk quietly, trying not to alert Amelia to his presence just yet. He observes her for a few moments, watching as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, flips the page of her book. She’s sitting cross-legged, book splayed in her lap and a cigarette in her left hand. When she knocks the ash of her cigarette into the tray sitting next to her, that’s when she looks up, sees Arthur looming in the shadows. 

“What are you doing here?” Amelia asks, her voice slightly above a whisper. She’s not angry, just a little startled, surprised to see him here, in a place she thought was her own.

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to take a walk,” Arthur responds, shuffling his feet. He had been hyping himself up the entire walk to the hangar, but now that he’s actually talking to Amelia he feels inadequate, insecure. When he sees her, he realizes coming here was a stupid idea; he shouldn’t have let Danse talk him into this. “I, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I can…”

Arthur trails off, takes a step back and gestures towards the stairs. Amelia contemplates for a second, takes a drag off her cigarette before shaking her head ever so slightly.

“You can stay, if you want. I’ll probably be heading to bed soon anyway.”

The elder smiles a bit, walks towards the senior scribe as she stretches her legs out, leaning her body against the metal bars. He sits down across from her at a respectable distance, a yard or so between his feet and her torso. Close enough to be personal, but far enough apart to retain formality.

“Do you come up here often?” Arthur asks after a few minutes of silence. He mentally berates himself for asking such a stupid question, but he just couldn’t stand the silence. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since Amelia’s promotion, and he wants to take the time to rebuild their friendship, not ask questions he already knows the answers to.

“Almost every night. I don’t sleep a lot, but high places relax me,” Amelia explains, and she sounds so tense that Arthur considers leaving, not wanting to stress her out more than she already is.

“I don’t sleep a lot either,” Arthur responds instead, opting to stay in hopes that things get better. “Too much to do, not enough hours in the day.”

Amelia laughs a bit at that, stubs out her cigarette before immediately lighting up a new one. Arthur watches the way her lips curl around the stick, the way her nostrils flare ever so slightly when she inhales. He has to will himself not to stare, instead reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a cigarette of his own. Smoking isn’t something he does often, but he feels like he needs to preoccupy himself with _something_ , otherwise he’s going to go crazy. He sighs softly as he puts the cylinder between his lips, flips open the lighter he carries with him and attempts to light it. It refuses to light, sputtering out with every flick of his thumb.

Amelia watches Arthur in his attempt, smiling a bit at the way his features curve in frustration when the lighter refuses to work. She avoids eye contact as she leans forward, grabs the cigarette out of her mouth and uses it to light his. He thanks her before taking a drag, elated by the small upturn of her lips as she returns to her spot.

They sit in silence for a while, clouds of smoke swirling around them as they avoid conversation. Arthur closes his eyes when they grow tired, content to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable position if it means he’ll be in such close proximity to Amelia.

“What’s the real reason you’re up here, Arthur?”

Amelia’s voice is curt, loud in the quiet they’ve fallen into. The elder’s face goes red, both stunned and embarrassed by her question.

“What do you mean?” is what he chooses to reply with, trying to avoid the answer.

“What I mean,” Amelia starts, stubbing out her cigarette. “Is why did you come up here? I know you didn’t just stumble into this particular hangar at this particular hour, thinking no one would be here. What do you want?”

Arthur doesn’t really have an answer to that. He was hoping she would ignore his little lie, would accept his presence up here as a friendly one. It was foolish of him to think that Amelia wouldn’t be suspicious; she’s too smart for that, and he knows that if the roles were reversed, he would want some answers too.

“It’s been over three years since that night,” Arthur starts, and he almost stops there when Amelia exhales unevenly. When he looks at her, she’s taking a gulp of her wine, staring down at her feet. “I, well. It’s been three years, Amelia, and I can’t get you out of my goddamn head. We never really got, _closure_ , you know? And I… I just want to know where we stand – where I stand, with you.”

It’s out in the air now and Arthur can’t take it back. There’s so much more that he wants to say, so many things he wants to confess. This is the moment where he imagined he would take her into his arms, where she’d accept his apology and he’d kiss her, and things would go back to normal. They would get to know each other again, Arthur would formalize their relationship and move Amelia into his quarters, would claim her as _his_ , his to hold for the rest of their lives together.

Instead, the small woman glares at him, and if looks could kill, Arthur would have been six feet under in a heartbeat. 

“ _Where we stand?_ ” Amelia whispers through gritted teeth. “You ignore me for 6 months, ship me away and ignore me for another three years, and suddenly you think promoting me into your little inner circle makes everything fucking okay? You broke my fucking heart Arthur! Did you honestly think you could come up here and that’d all just magically go away? That I’d swoon, fall in love with you all over again? I made that mistake once, Arthur. I don’t intend to make it again.”

Amelia pulls herself to her feet, leaves her bottle of wine and ashtray as she steps over the elder on her way off the catwalk. Maxson pulls himself to his feet, deciding that he can’t let her walk away angry. Maybe Arthur was a little too idealistic in coming here, but that doesn’t mean he wants Amelia walking away angry again.

“Stop!” He yells after her. She doesn’t listen, starts to run down the stairs while Arthur scrambles after her. “Amelia please!”

When she hits the ground, Arthur jumps over the stairs’ railing, landing hard on his feet but ignoring the pain as he jogs to catch up to her.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Arthur.” Amelia keeps walking briskly, crossing the hangar to open the door to her office. She tries to close the door in Arthur’s face, but his hand comes out to stop it, and her thin frame is no match for his brute strength.

“Please go away,” she mumbles out, giving up on pushing the door closed and instead leaning against it. 

“Hear me out, please?” Arthur’s begging now, towering over the small woman as she avoids looking at him. It doesn’t seem like she has any other option, so with a sigh Amelia walks into her office, sits down at her desk and gestures for Arthur to sit in the chair across from her.

“Thank you,” Arthur breathes as he sits on the edge of the chair, combs his hair out of his eyes before continuing.

“I was stupid tonight, undoubtedly. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that, shouldn’t have expected anything to come out of it. You’re hurting, I understand, I respect that. But I’m hurting too, Amelia, have been since that night, the night I told you I loved you. You only said that you cared about me. I thought, I thought maybe you didn’t reciprocate my feelings, and that’s fine, I’m not asking you to. But after my promotion, you never – you never came to see me, and I figured that you saw the night as a mistake. I thought I fucked things up between us by kissing you. And I saw you every day, smiling, laughing with your friends, and you looked so happy, and I realized that you didn’t need me anymore. That’s why I sent you away, because it broke my heart to see you, see you doing the things we used to do with other people. It was selfish, I know that now. I’m not asking you to forgive me; I just wanted you to know why I did what I did.”

Arthur is almost shaking by the time he finishes. When he looks up at Amelia, the scribe is rigid in her chair, tension evident as she picks at her fingernails. When she doesn’t say anything Arthur starts speaking, only to be interrupted when Amelia finds her voice.

“I tried to see you. I tried for almost three weeks, Arthur. I came to your quarters, day and night, but your guards always turned me away. I left you a note in one of Ingram’s reports, asking for something, _anything_ to let me know that you still cared about me. I never moved on, Arthur, I just got better at masking the pain. All these years, I had no idea where I stood with you, and I thought that it was _you_ who regretted that night, regretted kissing me.”

Arthur wants to grab her, shake her, scream at her until she understands that there has never been a moment when he didn’t love her. Instead he scoots forward, rests his arms on the desk with his fingers laced together.

“I don’t want to keep doing this, Amelia. I don’t want to pretend that you’re just another soldier to me when you’re so much more than that,” Arthur pleads. Amelia scoffs a little at him, but he keeps talking before she can jab at him. “I’m not asking you to forgive me; I can’t even start to forgive myself for what I did. But please, Amy, all I’m asking is for a second chance, to just be your friend. To start over.”

On one hand, Amelia doesn’t want to forgive him, wants him to suffer like she’s suffered for the past three years. But on the other hand, if what Arthur is saying is true, then he’s been suffering, too. She knows she can’t forgive him easily, but she also remembers just so happy, how lively she was during their time together. She wants to know if she can ever feel that way again.

The thought of being happy again, of not having to hide behind her mask anymore, is what brings her to look Arthur in the eyes.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, but the next part just didn't mesh well with this one. So forgive me for this, and expect a long chapter probably after the weekend.


	8. Only After Rain

The two don’t take special measures to spend time with each other and rebuild their friendship, instead opting for a more casual approach. Arthur invites Amelia to have meals in his quarters on occasion, but usually Danse or Haylen join them. Other nights they opt to spend in the house the Danse shares with Knight Cutler, playing games or drinking or sharing stories. The group starts to appreciate how nice it is to have their dynamic back, to be able to laugh and joke, to feel young and untroubled. They’ve all matured in the past three years – Amelia and Arthur especially – but they’re still the group of misfits that they’ve always been, and that’s especially relieving to Arthur, to see that some things don’t change.

Arthur occasionally joins Amelia in her office or on the catwalk, spending those nights catching up over glasses of wine. He takes special effort to make her laugh, makes jokes at his own expense because they’re the ones that make her laugh the hardest. When Amelia smiles, Arthur feels like the whole world shines a little brighter.

Despite returning to familiarity, things aren’t perfect – there are still subjects they don’t approach, like their nights together as teenagers or the battles that Arthur’s fought since they’ve been apart. Regardless of how they tiptoe around each other, what they have is good. Arthur still loves her, still spends every night wishing he could hold her while they talked, could kiss her when they say their goodbyes. It’s nothing but pure willpower that prevents him from acting upon his urges; he doesn’t want to jeopardize their progress by doing something so foolish.

The Brotherhood acquires the reactor from Rivet City shortly after Amelia grants him a second chance. The ordeal goes very peacefully, thanks mostly in part to Amelia and Danse. Arthur accompanies them during the discussions, but he lets the other two take the lead, their familiarity with the townspeople only serving to make the process smoother. The weeks leading up to the launch have been hectic, everyone busy running diagnostics, testing the airflow, making sure the ship will be able to stay airborne for long lengths of time.

Today, though, today is the day of launch, and Arthur’s office is bustling with activity, the council having decided to host a party for those who contributed heavily to the airship’s assembly. Some engineers and soldiers, the council, and of course Arthur’s four closest friends are all gathered in Arthur’s office during the evening. The desks that usually occupy the room have been removed to fit a long table with platters of food aligned in the center. The dozen or so soldiers are all dressed in their best; most in their formal robes, some in dresses, some in suits. Arthur’s wearing his best slacks with a button down shirt, his bomber jacket cleaned and slung over his shoulders. Amelia, however, is clad in a flowing blue dress, linking arms with Haylen, who wears something similar in green.

The dinner, the fancy dress, the alcohol being served, it all feels very aristocratic, and before they sit down to enjoy their food Arthur opts to give a toast, electing to keep it short.

“It’s been nearly a decade, but the time has finally come. Everyone here has gone above and beyond my expectations, and today we will finally see all of your hard work come to life. Thank you all for your passion, your dedication to the Brotherhood, for working tirelessly day in and day out as we prepared for this day. Thank you for seeing this project through to the end, and thank you for joining me tonight as we ring in a new era for the Brotherhood of Steel. To the Prydwen!” The elder raises his drink to the chorus that echoes him, drinks from it before sitting down at the head of the table.

Kells sits to his left, Danse to his right, with Amelia beside the paladin. He catches her eye as he sits down and she winks at him, smiling before she engages Haylen and Cutler in conversation, the two soldiers sitting beside and across from her, respectively.

It had been her idea to name the airship the Prydwen, after an ancient folktale she stumbled upon in her readings. She gifted the elder the book as a congratulatory present for obtaining the reactor, a playful note scribbled in it reminding the elder that despite sharing the name with the hero, Arthur isn’t quite a king.

The soldiers eat quickly, everyone excited for what comes after the meal, to see the Prydwen finally take flight. Arthur’s anxious, knows what he says to his soldiers tonight will be catalogued for generations to come. He’s rehearsed his speech countless times, has run over it enough with Danse and Amelia that he can probably recite it in his sleep, but he still fusses over these things, still feels like he’s a fraud when he addresses his soldiers, most of which are better qualified than him to occupy his post.

Danse is proving to be a good distraction, telling him and Kells a story about one of the initiates he’s been training, how the kid almost broke his nose when he forgot to compensate for his laser rifle’s recoil. Arthur can’t help but laugh at the tale, reminding him of his days as a squire, of the hours spent teaching Amelia how to shoot. He takes a sip of his wine as the red tints his cheeks; his memories with Amelia spread pleasant warmth through his body now that they’re no longer tainted with pain.

Arthur smiles ever so slightly, looks over at Amelia and watches how animated she is when she talks; how her hands move through the air, the way she throws her head back when she laughs. He’s zoned in now, paying more attention to her than to Danse. The paladin’s foot nudges his own underneath the table after a moment, and he snaps his attention back, giving him a questionable look. Danse motions to Kells, and Arthur turns to see the lancer-captain eyeing him.

“I’m sorry Kells, what were you saying?” The elder asks, his cheeks tinted pink as he realizes he was caught staring.

“I asked if you have considered any travel plans for the Prydwen once it goes mobile, sir. It would be a waste for it to idle around the air base,” the man questions.

“There’s nothing set in stone yet. I’ve been in discussion with Cade and some of the paladins about sending another recon team to the Commonwealth since Artemis has been radio silent for nearly a year. Depending on the discoveries there, we may mobilize it for that purpose. I do want to check out the former area of Pittsburg. I understand that there are steel factories still in operation there, and I think if we procure that, we can start making our own vertibirds and power armor suits, rather than repairing what we have. Perhaps that will be the Prydwen’s first task.” Arthur’s been thinking about sending another recon squad for a while now, actually, has bounced the idea off Cutler and Danse a couple times. He planned on bringing it up officially at the next council meeting, but telling Kells prematurely won’t hurt anything.

The elder catches Danse’s eye and the paladin picks up the conversation, exchanging information known about The Pitt with Kells while Arthur finishes up his meal, polishes off his glass of whiskey before topping off the other men’s glasses and then his own. He slams that one back, going to pour himself another before he realizes he should probably take it easy – he doesn’t want to be drunk when he addresses his soldiers.

When the dinner wraps up, Arthur is exhausted, too much formality wearing him out. The party files down the stairs once they’ve finished dessert, , Danse, Cutler, and two other knights hopping back into their power armor at the foot of the stairs. Arthur leads the pack towards the construction site once they exit the tower, Kells and Cade directly behind him, the rest of his council after them, with the lesser ranked soldiers following in back. Amelia grips onto Haylen’s arm, giggling as they stumble at the back of the pack. Danse and Cutler walk behind to keep them on track, the two scribes having consumed a little too much to drink at dinner.

When the entourage reaches the construction site, most of the scribes break off, heading to their respective areas in preparation for launch with Cutler and the two knights as escorts. Jameson and Amelia are the only scribes to remain, with Danse as their escort. They continue to follow Arthur, Kells and Cade, taking their place behind the elder on the stage arranged in front of the ship’s nose.

Arthur steps up to the microphone at precisely 1900 hours, raises his hands to silence the crowd. They do so immediately, and Arthur clears his throat before beginning his speech.

He talks about the Brotherhood’s inception, giving a quick summary of their history, of the events leading up to today. The elder’s voice carries throughout the compound, and Amelia finally sees why many of her comrades very nearly worship him. He’s charismatic, composed, and the tenacity of his words makes her feel guilty for the times that she’s thought about leaving the Brotherhood’s ranks. She can almost feel herself swooning, the liquor reviving all of the feelings for Arthur that she’s been trying to keep buried. She grips onto one of Danse’s arm plates where he’s holding them behind his back, trying to keep her composure through the lightheadedness. Danse relaxes an arm in return, allowing her to steady herself without drawing attention to the two of them.

“It is with grand excitement that we are all gathered here to watch the Prydwen as it takes flight. May this mark a new era for the Brotherhood of Steel. Long live the Brotherhood!” Arthur all but yells the last words, the anticipation of seeing the Prydwen fly bubbling out of him.

The crowd cheers as Arthur finishes, an uncontainable smile on his face as he looks down at his soldiers. After a moment, he glances towards Ingram’s station, a green light indicating that all systems are functioning and ready to go. The elder approaches the microphone, barely containing a professional demeanor through his excitement. “Proctor Ingram, please do the honors.”

From the other side of the ship the proctor initiates the sequence, the Prydwen’s engines kicking into action. Kells, Cade and Danse begin ushering the crowd back, the rest of those onstage following, putting considerable space between themselves and the Prydwen in case of failure.

When the crowd is reasonably distanced, Ingram kicks the engines up, the Prydwen roaring to life as it begins its ascent. The base starts to release the ship, metallic arms retracting as the Prydwen takes to the sky. Arthur turns to see Amelia to his left, excitement flowing through her. This ship is her baby; so much of it was possible because of her continual efforts. In his exhilaration, Arthur puts an arm around her shoulders, pulls her into his side and smiles down at her. She smiles right back, and Arthur yearns to press his lips to hers, to complete the moment. Instead of acting foolishly, Arthur just squeezes her tighter, the scribe’s arm winding itself under his jacket.

The Prydwen reaches optimum altitude and Arthur can’t help but cheer, his jubilation rippling through the crowd behind him. Kells passes him two glasses of champagne, raising his own glass in a small congratulatory toast. Arthur hands off one of the cups to Amelia, the scribe drinking it down excitedly as she leans further into Arthur. He blushes, diverts his eyes from the knowing look Kells is giving him, instead gulping down his own glass.

As elder, he’s granted the privilege of being the first onboard the ship, so when Haylen comes with the message that it’s safe to board, he tugs Amelia behind him, not even caring about subtlety at the moment as she clambers aboard the vertibird in front of him, the rest of the group filing in behind them. When the vertibird docks, Arthur is the first one to step foot on the decks of the airborne ship, leaning over the railing and basking in the glory, his soldiers hollering at them from the ground. Kells follows him off, everyone else scrambling onto the ship from the other vertibirds, each finding a spot along the railing to admire the view.

Arthur feels on top of the world, and when Amelia smiles, scoots in the space between him and Danse, for the first time in his life he feels home.

 

 

 

\-------

 

A celebration breaks out on board once the officers have completed their tour of the Prydwen; Jameson breaks out the alcohol, someone sets up a radio, and the Brotherhood elite spend the night dancing through the empty halls of the ships, laughing and exchanging stories of the hell they went through to get to this moment. The effort poured into the ship only makes this victory sweeter, and everyone is euphoric, not an unhappy soul aboard. Amelia laughs and dances with a number of the crew, from her fellow scribes to Danse and even Ingram, each one with a bigger smile on their face than the last.

She’s just finished dancing with Quinlan to some upbeat Dean Martin song, laughing when he bows to her after releasing her hands. Amelia pulls at her skirt, curtseys in response and accepts the drink that Haylen passes her once the proctor walks away.

“I never thought I’d see this day,” Haylen says, leaning up against one of the walls and taking a swig of her drink. Amelia smiles in response, raises her drink in a subtle toast to her fellow scribe’s words.

“I’m ready for what’s next,” Amelia admits, a giggle escaping her mouth once the words are out. Sure, she’s enjoying the moment, the alcohol in her bloodstream making everything exceptionally pleasant. But the workaholic in her is ready to begin the internal set up of the Prydwen, to get all the power armor bays and bunks in their places before the ship starts travelling.

“Why don’t you take some time off, Amelia? God knows you deserve it,” Haylen suggests a few minutes later, watching the gaggle of people dancing with each other on the open floor.

Amelia looks at her friend, leans her head on Haylen’s shoulder as she contemplates it. Taking time off now would probably drive her mad – she needs to be present when operations begin commencing aboard the ship. There are too many people who rely on her that even thinking about taking a day off is ludicrous.

She goes to tell Haylen that, but the older woman cuts her off before she can begin.

“I know you think things will fall apart without you, but I promise that Ingram and I can hold down the fort if you do want to take a couple days off, go get some rest in Megaton or something.”

“Everything I need is here,” Amelia shrugs, downing the rest of her drink as she looks over at Arthur, the man laughing as he talks with Cutler and Danse.

The two women fall into silence then, forgoing conversation to watch Danse as he attempts to drag Cutler onto the dance floor, leaving the elder behind to watch on. The two tall men lack anything even resembling grace, drunkenly stumbling into each other in time with the music, smiling all the while.

“How are things between you and Maxson going?” Haylen pipes up after the two soldiers end their charade, the knight bowing at the applause that follows while the paladin attempts to drag him off the dance floor. Amelia’s eyes widen as she looks at the woman next to her, whose gaze is fixated on the knight.

“I, uh, I guess they’re… good? We don’t, um, spend a lot of time together outside of like, when all of us hang out.” The blush on Amelia’s face is evident, and her embarrassment couldn’t be more obvious. Luckily, Haylen pays her no mind, instead nodding at Amelia’s words. After a moment, the older woman excuses herself, leaving Amelia’s side to approach Danse and Cutler.

Amelia’s left alone then, still flabbergasted at Haylen’s question even though she has no reason to be. How _are_ things between them? She supposes that they’re good, that they’ve been getting along alright and she hasn’t really been given any reason to complain. Lately, she’s been allowing herself to think of him less as Elder Maxson and more as Arthur, more like the boy who convinced her to join the Brotherhood and taught her how to shoot a gun.

Usually, she doesn’t allow herself to think any deeper than that, the intimate memories still tainted, even now. But she’s downed three drinks since she started talking to Haylen, so the buzz she’s had since dinner is dissolving into almost pure drunkenness, and she manages to giggle a bit when she thinks about Maxson, flushed not with embarrassment but with happiness, remembering the roughness of his hands when he helped her onto the vertibird earlier, the warmth radiating from his body when he put his arm around her when the Prydwen took flight.

She looks for him now, the elder having moved from his spot with Danse and Cutler sometime during their dance. There’s more people onboard the ship now, the party having dissolved into a celebration for everyone, not just the Brotherhood elite. Judging by the amount of people on the deck, there were many soldiers anxious to see the inside of the Prydwen, to celebrate the Brotherhood’s success.

Amelia finally notices Arthur nursing a glass of vodka in the corner, alone. He’s smiling a bit though, witnessing his soldier’s jubilation but not participating in it. She takes one last sip of her drink before handing it off to a male initiate who’s attempting to flirt with one of the knights. With a sly grin on her face, Amelia stalks over to the elder, wordlessly taking his glass from him and setting it on one of the counters before tugging him towards the makeshift dance floor.

An upbeat song ends soon after they situate themselves, the radio switching to the next song seamlessly. Arthur laughs at how corny the moment is, Bob Crosby crooning through the speakers as he slides his arms around Amelia’s waist, smiling down at her as they sway together. Amelia rests her head on his chest as the deep voice sings about wishing on moons and finding rainbows after rain. The moment’s almost perfect, would be were it not for the other soldiers aboard the Prydwen. Arthur tightens his grip around her waist, lessening the gap between them as he rests his head on top of hers.

They stay like that until the song ends, until Arthur pulls away and smiles down at her. Amelia can’t help but smile in return, blushes when Arthur lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles.

The gesture is a small one, but its significance doesn’t go unnoticed by the other soldiers onboard. Arthur excuses himself them, bidding her a quiet goodnight as he decides it’s time to turn in for the night.

He slips away from the party, Amelia and the rest of the party watching him as he disappears down the hallway. When the scribe turns around, the majority of the soldiers are staring at her, and she ducks her head as she walks over to where her friends are gathered.

Danse cocks an eyebrow at her while Haylen and Cutler just grin. Amelia should have known that dancing with the elder would have been a spectacle, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. She doesn’t regret it though; if anything, it reminds her that Arthur still cares for her in a romantic way, even if they haven’t dared to touch upon that issue since the first night in Amelia’s office.

“You should go after him,” Haylen whispers in her ear, giggling a bit as she pulls away. For whatever reason, Amelia feels like that’s a good idea, smiles at Haylen as she takes her advice and slips away from the party. No one notices her now – they’ve all resumed the festivities, which seem to include Jameson downing multiple shots as she’s cheered on by the younger soldiers.

When she’s halfway down the hall, Amelia breaks into a jog, hoping to reach Maxson before he leaves the ship. She scrambles down the ladder, dodging around all the power armor suits soldiers have left on the command deck. The scribe pushes open the door to the flight deck as Arthur signals to a ground pilot his intent for departure.

“Arthur!” She calls out to the elder, voice booming in the silence. The elder turns in surprise, lifting an eyebrow as the scribe calls out to him again. He steps back from the railing, walking slowly towards her as she barrels down the stairs, almost crashing into him as she hits the ground. Arthur reaches out to steady her, hands on his shoulders as she skids to a stop.

Now that she’s facing him, Amelia realizes that she really has nothing to say. Their parting was a good one; she doesn’t know why she followed him out here like they had unfinished business. Arthur just stares on at her, willing her to say something. Amelia’s silent in return, looking at the ground as she rubs her hands over her arms, cold up here on this November night.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asks, voice soft and gentle as he drops his hands from her shoulders. She looks away from him, suddenly shy despite being the one to follow him out here.

Arthur steps back, taking off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders when she shivers again. It’s then that Amelia realizes why she followed him, even if it wasn’t her conscious reasoning.

The scribe grabs the collar of Arthur’s shirt when he tries to step back again, pulls him closer to her, blue eyes staring into hers all the while. She tugs him down so their faces are close, stares at him with uncertainty in her eyes until he whispers her name.

When she finally kisses him, it’s everything she wants to say coming out in a burst of raw emotion. She winds her hands into his hair, holding him there as she presses her lips against his again and again. Arthur couldn’t move if he wanted to, and the way he wraps his arms around her waist, lifts her off the ground, it all helps reassure Amelia that he wants this, too. Amelia’s body remains rigid, conscious of their public location despite her intoxication. They kiss under the moonlight until their lips are raw, and it’s not as awkward as it was the first time, and Amelia doesn’t know if that’s because of the alcohol or because Arthur’s had practice kissing other people.

She pushes that last thought out of her mind, instead opting to live in this moment, here, where Arthur’s tongue darts out to trace along her lips, to scrape the tip of her own tongue when she gasps. Amelia tries to repeat his actions, confidence seeping its way through her the longer the kiss continues. They don’t break apart until they hear the whir of the vertibird approaching, and even then Arthur keeps her suspended, one of his arms leaving her waist to push a strand of hair out of her face.

He kisses her once more before setting her down, steadying her when she almost loses her footing. Amelia smiles up at him dazedly, and Arthur wraps a firm arm around her waist as he guides her to the vertibird. Amelia only notices that she left her jacket aboard the Prydwen once the vertibird leaves the dock. She knows she’ll be able to get it back tomorrow, when she starts her official duties aboard the Prydwen. For now, she pulls Arthur’s jacket closer around her, smiling softly as she catches Arthur’s eye.

A new era indeed.

 

 

 

\-------

 

When Amelia wakes up the next morning it’s to blinding sunlight and a terrible headache, and it takes her a split second to realize she’s not in her office. First off, her office doesn’t have windows. Second, her standard issue Brotherhood blanket is not nearly as warm as the one draped over her, and third, she can hear someone else snoring close by.

She peers over the bed to see that Arthur is the one snoring, wrapped up in an old bedroll with his back turned towards her. Amelia lays back down, tries to recount what happened last night. She vividly remembers watching the Prydwen take to the air, remembers dancing with Danse and Quinlan and Haylen, but everything after that is a little blurry. When she closes her eyes and wills herself to focus, the rest of the night starts to come back to her – dancing with Arthur, chasing after him, _kissing_ him.

Amelia nearly chokes on her dry tongue when that particularly memory comes back. She doesn’t really remember coming back to Arthur’s quarters, only him guiding her off the vertibird and half carrying her. She must have assumed that he was taking her to her own quarters, but obviously that wasn’t the case.

Her coughing rouses the elder, and Amelia hears him groan as he stretches out inside the bedroll. It seems she’s not the only one waking up confused; when Arthur rolls over he looks uncertain until he sees Amelia sitting on his bed, his blanket pooling around her lap.

“G’morning,” the elder mumbles, wiping the gunk from his eyes as he starts to sit up. His arms stretch above his head, back cracking in response to a night spent on the hard ground.

Amelia doesn’t respond to Arthur’s greeting; instead she stares at his naked chest, at the hair that trails down his chest, across his abs and into the sweatpants that lay low on his hips, shifting lower as he starts rolling up his bedding. She’s never seen Arthur like this, never really imagined she would, and she racks her brain, trying to find a memory that will explain why the elder is shirtless.

Nothing comes to memory, so there are two options: one, she got a little _too_ drunk last night and did something she shouldn’t have, or two, Arthur took off his shirt for reasons unrelated to her. Amelia hopes it’s the second one – she is, after all, the one intruding in his quarters. For all she knows the elder might sleep with his shirt off every night.

She bites her lip at the thought, trailing her eyes over Arthur’s back, at the scars that litter his body, the muscles that stretch across it when he bends over to tuck away his bedroll.

“Why am I - how did I get here?” she finally asks after Arthur pulls a shirt out of the chest and slips it over his body. It’s a simple black t-shirt, one that clings to his frame, leaving nothing to the imagination. Not that she has to imagine what Arthur looks like shirtless anymore, something that she’s been doing more often lately than she’s willing to admit. But god, being alone with him when he looks like _that_ , when she’s still sitting on his bed, legs bare under her dress; the situation isn’t really doing wonders for her self-control.

“You had a little too much to drink last night – kept saying that you were cold and you didn’t want to go back to your room. I didn’t want to even attempt to argue with you when you were that drunk, so I dragged you up here. You, um, kept pulling at my shirt when we were walking up the stairs, and you kind of ripped the buttons off and when I tried to put a shirt on when we got up here you kept yelling at me,” Arthur recounts, blushing a bit at the last part. Amelia’s cheeks match his, red creeping up her neck as she berates herself for drinking so much.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, hiding her head in her hands in embarrassment, palms pressing into her eyes as she wills her hangover away. Arthur laughs quietly, combing his fingers through his hair. He approaches the bed, crouches down in front of Amelia where she’s swung her legs over the side.

“You kept trying to kiss me, too. I, uh, maybe let you. Just a bit.” Arthur smiles shyly at the groan Amelia lets out, hands still covering her face. Arthur tentatively places his palm on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t even worry about it, Amy. You’re cute when you’re drunk.”

Amelia almost flinches at the touch, a new wave of embarrassment flooding her at Arthur’s assessment of her stupidity. Pulling her hands away from her eyes, she looks at the elder’s hand, the warmth of his thumb as it runs over her skin. Arthur’s smile stutters for a second when she looks at him, but it works its way back onto his face as he leans forward, his morning breath fanning over her as he gets closer.

“Is this, can I…” the elder trails off, eyes flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes.

The scribe’s heart skips a beat, teeth clamping down on her lip as she contemplates what Arthur’s asking. Last night, the warmth of alcohol had pulsed through her when she was kissing Arthur. This morning, reality has set in, reminding her that the man in front of her is the leader of the organization she works for, that he’s still the man who hurt her, despite how gently he looks at her now.

She leans backwards, pulls away from Arthur as she casts down her eyes.

“We shouldn’t-” she starts, interrupted immediately by Arthur.

“Why not?”

There are a million reasons why: they’d be violating protocol, breaking fraternization rules, foregoing their roles for a moment of pleasure. Not to mention that Amelia’s not sure if she’s emotionally ready for such an action – not sober at least.

When she doesn’t answer, Arthur leans in closer, bumping her nose ever so slightly with his own.

“Please.”

The plea is but a whisper, the desperation in his voice evident even in the quiet. Amelia closes her eyes, teeth trailing over her lip as she nods, the movement so slight that she was sure Arthur would miss it.

He doesn’t, lips pressing softly against hers a moment later. His hand remains on her knee and he squeezes it again as he stops to breathe, pulling back to look at the beautiful woman in front of him. Amelia opens her eyes when Arthur’s hand moves to cup her jaw, fingers nudging her ear as he leans forward, pressing his lips to hers again.

All Amelia wants to do is press back against him, run her fingers through his hair and hold him against her. She aches to pull him on top of her, let him run his hands over her while they kiss, let herself open to him, allow him to experience a part of her that she’s barely experienced herself. Instead, she bunches her fists by her sides, sitting rigidly on the edge of the bed as Arthur’s lips press soft kisses against her lips, her cheeks, her jaw.

She can’t help it then, tears slipping down her face as she lets herself melt into his touch. Arthur pulls away when he feels the moisture on his lips, eyes full of concern as he forces Amelia to look at him.

“Amelia, I – I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, starting to move away from her. He backtracks, figuring he crossed a line, asked for too much too quickly. To his surprise, Amelia shakes her head, fingers reaching out to grab at his shirt as she holds him in place.

“No, don’t – you didn’t do anything. I’m just… this is all happening so fast, and – god,” she lets go of his shirt, dropping her face into her hands. “It’s too good to be true. I just feel like I’m gonna wake up cold and alone in my quarters and this is all just another dream.”

“I promise you I’m real,” Arthur says, pinching her forearm with a small grin. Amelia can’t help but giggle, the sound muffled as the elder surges forward again, presses incessant kisses against her lips to reassure her.

Arthur leans over her, tries to push Amelia into laying down so he can climb on top of her.

“Wait,” Amelia stops him, palm pressing against his chest to prevent him from moving. Arthur looks down on her, hair falling into his eyes where he hasn’t brushed it back for the day. When he registers her uncertainty, he climbs off her, instead opting to lie back at the head of the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him, arms open in invitation.

Amelia smiles appreciatively, situates herself with one leg strung over his, left arm laying across his chest while his arms wind around her back. He tugs her closer so he can brush his hand through the knots in the back of her hair.

“Is this okay?” he asks as he pulls her body closer, her dress hiking up ever so slightly as he does so.

She wipes the tear tracks off her cheeks as she nods. Arthur leans down to press a sweet kiss to her lips before she lays her head on his chest, ear pressed against his ribcage to listen to his heartbeat.

They stay cuddled together as the sun rises in the sky, Arthur periodically combing his hand through her hair, pressing his lips wherever he can reach.

There’s a lot that they still need to talk about, need to make sure that they’re on the same page for once. But in this moment, with Arthur’s arms around her, the world feels alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Drunk Amelia is fun to write. Thanks for reading!


	9. Hold No Guns

Shortly after the Prydwen takes launch, Maxson introduces his plan of taking over the Pitt to the council. He presents details from a recently returned Recon Squad Theta, a group that Arthur sent west shortly after the Citadel’s fall. They bring tales of a raider town where radiation and pollution have warped the residents into hairless, brainless primates that plague the town and attack on sight. It’s the steel factories that peak everyone’s interest, agreeing that acquiring the plants would prove beneficial to the Brotherhood’s long-term goals.

The preparations begin merely weeks after the Prydwen is fully operational, designated staff beginning their full-time assignments to the airship. The elder spends most of his time aboard, moving most of his belongings into his designated quarters. He spends most of his time in the command center of the ship, taking his office hours there instead of in the tower. He only returns to the ground for council meetings, opting to use the spacious control tower over the small table in his new quarters.

Being stationed aboard the Prydwen means less privacy, means Amelia and Arthur spend little time together. Arthur still allows her to attend the meetings so long as none of the other council members question him. Besides Arthur’s affection for her, the senior scribe is a valuable addition to the council, acting as a sort of spokesperson for those of lesser ranks, conveying concerns or ideas directly to the elder rather than letting them get lost in the chain of command.

Amelia regularly accompanies Arthur on his treks back to the Prydwen after the meetings, one of the few times the two are actually able to spend time together. On those evenings, Amelia joins Arthur in his quarters for dinner, a sort of unofficial date night for the two of them. After the meals they usually nap on the bed, holding each other close and stealing sleepy kisses well into the evening.

They aren’t open about their relationship, and they can't really be. Amelia often feels like a dirty secret, but the happiness she feels around Arthur heavily outweighs the shame felt each time she sneaks out of his quarters in the dead of night. She’s usually wide awake after leaving Arthur, so she spends her mornings smoking on the forecastle, accompanied by Haylen, the older woman being a naturally early riser.

It’s there that Amelia confesses the nature of her relationship to Haylen one morning, the older woman expressing nothing but excitement at two of her closest friends finally righting their relationship. Amelia swears her friend to secrecy, not even daring to tell Danse. Unbeknown to Amelia, the paladin is more than aware of her and Arthur's relationship, informed of their late night escapades by the elder himself.

The winter drags on, and the little bubble that Arthur and Amelia hole themselves up in stretches as the year draws to a close. Christmas shapes up to be a wholesome affair, Amelia and Jameson decorating the Prydwen with small pine trees and scavenged lights. Amelia sneakily arranges some mistletoe above the door to Arthur’s quarters, the elder not noticing it until Danse points it out to him one night. That evening he pulls Amelia into his quarters, closes the door and kisses her under the mistletoe, and when she giggles into his mouth he feels whole.

 

\------

 

Amelia’s 19th birthday comes just four days before they’re set to leave for The Pitt. Arthur has Haylen deliver flowers to her office, a messy note scrawled on it inviting her to his quarters for dinner. When Amelia receives them, she sticks her nose into the buds, inhales their perfume before flipping open the note and smiling.

She doesn’t end up joining him for the meal, however, having been surprised by her friends and colleagues with a special celebration in the mess hall. She blushes as everyone sings her a happy birthday, their voices echoing through the ship until everyone’s joined in. Arthur smiles where he lay on the bed in his quarters, away from the party but happy that she’s finally getting the appreciation she deserves.

Amelia joins him a couple hours later fairly intoxicated, stumbling through the door with a smirk on her face. 

"Hey sexy," she breathes, tripping over herself as she approaches the bed to climb on top of Arthur. The alcohol flows through her, a few too many shots encouraging her brash behavior.

She kisses him messily, calling him gorgeous and beautiful, running her hands over his body. Arthur just laughs at her sloppy attempt to seduce him, forever amused by how bold she is when she’s drunk. She tries to pull his shirt over his head after a moment and Arthur grabs her hands to prevent her from continuing, presses a kiss to her pouty lips when she struggles against his grip. 

“But it’s my birthday,” she pouts, and Arthur can't help but roll his eyes, sitting up on the bed and putting her hands back on his chest so she can push the shirt over his head.

It’s the first time Amelia’s seen him shirtless since the morning after the Prydwen’s launch, and she can't stop herself, running her hands over his abs, pulling slightly at his chest hair. She glances at Arthur through her eyelashes, mischief in her eyes as she bends down to bite at his chest, tongue running down his sternum.

It has more of an effect on Arthur than he’s willing to admit, eyes rolling back slightly as her tongue trails lower, halts right above his belly button. She stops with a giggle, surging back to kiss Arthur messily, tongue plunging into his mouth with no real goal in mind. Her hips press down into his and she can _feel_ his erection pressing against her through the tight pants he wears, and hell, it’s her birthday, why shouldn’t she indulge herself a bit?

She grinds her hips down a little more, giggling again when Arthur lets out a breathy groan of her name.

“Fuck, Amelia, we shouldn’t do this right now,” Arthur says after a few moments, after the initial excitement has worn off and he wills himself to think rationally. Amelia just pouts at him again, trying to offer up the same excuse from earlier before Arthur presses a finger to her lips. “I know it’s your birthday, but I don’t want our first time together to be while you’re drunk.”

Even drunk Amelia can see his point, and she climbs off him with a blush and a less sincere pout. Arthur kisses her a few more times, just slow brushes of their lips in attempt to calm the both of them down. A few minutes later Arthur pulls her down to lie on the bed, a small squeak slipping from her mouth at the sudden change in position. Arthur’s body scrunches behind her, spoons her as he presses soft kisses to the back of her neck.

Amelia can still feel how hard he is behind him, and with a smirk she snaps her hips back teasingly. Arthur gasps at the movement, his hand squeezing her hip where it lays.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do anything?” she asks teasingly, continuing to roll her hips back against him.

Of course he does; all Arthur’s wanted since they started seeing each other again is to be intimate with her, to run his hands over her naked body and commit it to memory. But he’s trying to remain rational despite just how _willing_ Amelia is right now, reminds himself that she’s drunk and probably won’t remember a lot of this in the morning anyway.

The knowledge that she _is_ interested in him like that, though, he stores away for later, promising himself to explore this part of her at another time, when she’s of sound mind.

“Go to bed, baby,” he says, holding her close against his body so she can’t make another move like that.

Amelia blushes a bit at the pet name, sighs in defeat as she snuggles down for the night. Arthur’s warm against her back, and it’s not long before she’s drifting off to sleep, a soft smile on her face as she succumbs to her fatigue.

 

\------

 

She apologizes to him profusely when she wakes up, refuses to meet Arthur’s eyes for most of the morning before he just kisses her, tells her that everything’s fine and he doesn’t see her any differently. He’s proud of himself for not succumbing to his more primal instincts, and Amelia is so, so happy that Arthur kept his head throughout the ordeal. She knows it couldn’t have been easy.

Hiding their sexual attraction towards each other becomes almost a thing of the past then; over the next week, as the Prydwen undergoes it’s final round of testing, any time they get alone they’re pressed against each other. Dark corners, abandoned hallways, wherever – they grasp at each other, mouths pressing and hands fumbling under clothes to just get a quick feel before they go their separate ways, too wary of their surroundings to push it further, but too desperate to keep their desires confined to just Arthur’s quarters.

When the morning finally comes to leave the air base, the soldiers who aren’t stationed aboard salute from the ground, watching until the Prydwen is out of sight. Arthur sees the air base fade from view at his position on the command deck, leaning his elbows on the railing as he gazes through the windows, worried about his soldiers even though he knows they’re in the perfectly capable hands of Head Scribe Jameson. Amelia’s at his side, having stayed to linger after the rest of the council returned to their stations. Her arm wraps around his waist underneath the jacket, fingernails digging ever so slightly into the bone of his hips through his jumpsuit, just enough to keep him on edge. He hears Kells commanding the flight crew below him, knows Danse is on duty right outside the room, their presence the only thing that prevents him from ravishing Amelia in this very room.

When he looks at her, she’s staring up at him with sultry eyes, biting her lip ever so slightly because she _knows_ it gets him riled up. Arthur glances towards the door to check that Danse is looking away from them, not that the paladin knowing of their affair is of any real concern to Arthur. He leans down to press a hard kiss to Amelia’s lips, the thrill of being caught only egging him on as he fists a hand in her hair, tugging at it before he releases Amelia all together.

He dismisses her then, using his elder voice and winking at her when she salutes him.

 

\------

 

It takes them less than ten hours to reach the raider town, and Arthur announces their arrival to the townspeople over the intercom, saying they approach with peaceful intentions and merely wish to negotiate. Kells circles the area, positioning the airship in front of the main bridge leading into town. They make no immediate call to action, Arthur instead announcing to the town his intent to speak to their leader.

A few hours later they see people with weapons positioning themselves on the bridge, weapons aimed to fire. Arthur sends a vertibird containing two paladins, a field scribe, and Proctor Teagan to approach the figures, to return immediately if they begin firing. The vertibird has barely docked when the raiders open fire, and rather than immediately returning, the pilot flies to the opposite side of the bridge, drawing the fire away from the Prydwen.

It’s an act of war against peaceful intentions, but this is what they’ve all been trained for. Paladins and knights alike suit up in power armor, some simply jumping off the flight deck into action while others take vertibirds. Arthur gives them the orders from the command deck, telling them only to fire when fired upon, try to minimize casualties by aiming for limbs instead of heads.

The battle commences, the Brotherhood on the offensive, attempting to push the raiders back across the bridge and into town. The fight stays concentrated on the bridge, but after quite a bit of fighting, they realize that the raiders retreated intentionally, luring the soldiers into a minefield. Brotherhood soldiers start to go down, the raiders in return pushing forward, gaining back almost the entirety of the bridge. It’s when the trogs come out to play and the Brotherhood starts to fight two different enemies, it’s then that Arthur realizes they need to rethink their strategy.

Rather than sit in his cushy room while his brothers are laying down their lives, the elder decides that he needs to join the battle – to shout orders from the ground rather than passing them onto those with radios. He hastily retreats from the command center, rushing to the main deck and entering his power armor. Ingram, Amelia, Haylen and Danse are all positioned on the flight deck when he gets there, standing at attention as he barks orders at them. Those aboard are to assume Omega formation, and immediately everyone salutes him and runs to the post assigned to them for that position. Amelia is stationed in the corner next to an empty vertibird dock, Gatling laser in hand as she looks at the elder. Maxson’s game face is on and he nods his head at her, a subtle acknowledgement before he locks his helmet into place.

The scribe hands him his Gatling laser and Arthur steadies it in his grip, leans down to whisper something in her ear before he jumps off the deck, joining his soldiers on the ground.

_“Stay alive.”_

 

\------

 

Amelia is poised on the flight deck with a laser rifle and a scope, sweeping the area within her range. She doesn’t interfere – under Omega formation she’s not meant to. Her position is that of last resort; she’s just another pair of eyes watching from above, making sure those on the ground aren’t surprised, again.

She mostly focuses on the elder though, watching his actions through the scope. Maxson is certainly a force to be reckoned with, plowing through raiders and trogs alike with the aid of _Final Judgment_. She watches his arms move as he dictates a formation, watches various soldiers file in beside him, forming a tight group in hopes of minimizing their weakness. Amelia’s never been in battle, doesn’t really know battle tactics or half the terminology that the soldiers call out to each other. She knows Arthur is more than capable of handling himself, but she can’t take her scope off him, _just in case_.

It turns out _just in case_ actually comes. When the original ground formation proves successful, Arthur calls for them to disband, moving towards a landed vertibird in hopes of getting another fusion core for his weapon during the temporary lull in battle. In doing so, he turns his back on the enemy, and Amelia watches as a trog jumps out from the shadows and grips onto his power armor’s hatch. Maxson tries to get purchase on the creature, dropping the laser at his feet as he tries to rid himself of the trog.

It doesn’t seem to be working; the elder is too blind to the situation on his back and other soldiers are too busy holding back the fighters or resupplying themselves to notice their elder under attack. Amelia is almost enraged at the soldiers’ indifference to their elder’s situation, but she knows that in this terrible lighting it’s difficult to make out the elder insignia, to differentiate Maxson from any other soldier in power armor.

She takes a deep breath, braces her feet apart and shifts the position of her sniper on the railing. The first shot misses, but the second one Amelia fires hits the trog square in the back, the creature collapsing dead onto the ground.

Arthur looks around, sees no one with their rifle pointed towards him, and he smiles a bit inside his armor. He just _knows_ who fired that shot, sending off a quick salute towards her position on the ship.

Amelia can’t help but smile.

 

\------

 

The fighting stretches on into the night, and when the Brotherhood successfully pushes the raiders back across the bridge, Arthur personally leads his soldiers into the city’s gates. He reintroduces them as the Brotherhood of Steel, saying that those who do not wish to fight may retreat to their homes. It’s when the streets clear that the raiders’ leader approaches, wearing a decrepit suit of power armor.

When the leader stands before them, he pops open his helmet, going to speak before he’s cut off.

“ _Ashur?_ ”

 

\------

 

The intel from Recon Squad Theta failed to include that the leader of the Pitt was a former Brotherhood paladin; when Ashur approached the group it was Teagan who recognized him, Arthur not having been alive during The Scourge, let alone a part of it. He knows little of the man before him, only that he was supposedly the only casualty during the Brotherhood’s purge on the city thirty years earlier.

Maxson lets Teagan lead the discussions then – apparently the Proctor and Ashur were close friends back in the day, before the Brotherhood even set out for the Capital Wasteland. The old, dark-skinned man listens to the proctor’s initial speech, agreeing to a sit down with the Brotherhood the next morning in the skyscraper Ashur calls his home.

The Prydwen holds its position across the bridge, various members of the council accompanying Maxson and Teagan for their deliberations with Ashur. The discussions drag on, each side refusing to compromise until the elder starts to get angry. Intimidation isn’t the approach Maxson wanted to use, but he pulls the whole _I have an airship and an army with the capacity to level this town_ and eventually gets Ashur to budge.

They come to an agreement nearly a week and a half after the initial battle. The Brotherhood will occupy the territory of the Pitt and use its steel mills for their own means, letting those who already work the mills retain their jobs with an increase in compensation. Maxson will send ten soldiers to oversee and protect the area, as well as another ten scribes to help with reconstructing the area.

The terms are talked upon, a treaty signed and copied and entered into the Codex. Maxson leaves six men behind with the promise of the additional soldiers coming within the month. He shakes the hands of Ashur and his men after a ceremonial dinner, returning to the Prydwen with his council. The ship is set to depart in the morning, a party breaking out on board to celebrate their success in the Pitt.

Arthur begins the party with a speech, adrenaline pumping as he praises his men for their proficiency in battle, in the discussions, in general. They remember the two soldiers who gave their lives for this victory, a moment of silence held before the elder dismisses the soldiers for their festivities.

He opts not to join them, grabbing a bottle of wine from the makeshift bar before making his way back his quarters, side stepping a couple of initiates trying to sneakily make out in the hallway. He ignores them, slips into his room quietly, leaning his head against the door as he locks it. When he turns, he’s surprised to see Amelia smiling at him from across the room.

“Hey you,” is all she says, legs swinging off the side of his bed. Arthur smiles back at her, his eyes roaming over her figure as she leans back on her hands. She looks so enticing, hair from a recent shower and dampening the shoulders of her t-shirt, legs exposed by the shorts she wears.

“Hey, beautiful,” Arthur responds, loving the way her cheeks tint peak at the compliment. He crosses the room, setting the bottle on the floor next to the bed before ducking down and pulling her into a fervent kiss. When he pulls back her lips follow his, and he indulges her once more before sitting down next to her, pulling at her hips until she’s situated sideways in his lap.

Like this, he can feel her heartbeat through her thin shirt, her hair dampening his fatigues where she lays her head on his shoulder. He hands her the wine after he’s uncorked it, laughs a bit as she opts to drink straight from the bottle.

They start passing the bottle back and forth in silence, Arthur running a hand under her shirt to stroke at her hipbone. A faint gasp escapes Amelia’s lips as he does so, and the elder takes the bottle from her grasp, sets it on the floor before running his other hand underneath her shirt, this time trailing it over her ribs.

“Arthur,” she whispers, hesitant as his lips trail across her jaw, beard scratching at the skin. He doesn’t respond, instead bringing his lips to hers as he kisses her feverishly, adrenaline from the night’s earlier festivities still pumping through him. Amelia grabs at the front of his jumpsuit, knotting her fingers in the fabric as he nips at her neck.

There’s something sort of primal in the way his hands grab at her waist, how she allows herself to be pushed down onto her back as Arthur straddles her legs. With a bit of apprehension, Arthur’s hands trail upward, pulling back slightly to look at the woman beneath him. It’s when his fingers nudge underneath her bra that Amelia takes his hands to stop her, looking away sheepishly.

“Is, is this okay?” Arthur asks, pulling his hands from beneath her shirt. Amelia’s cheeks are flushed and she continues avoiding eye contact, biting her lip as she scoots up the bed and out from underneath him. She curls in on herself and Arthur allows her the space, extending his hand to stroke her calf in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

“I’ve never…” she trails off, hiding her flushed face in her hands. It’s one thing to tease, another to follow through on her actions, and she’s not quite sure if she’s ready to take the next step despite all the tension that’s built up in her over the past week.

Arthur bites back a smile, pries her legs apart so he can lean over her, can rest his forehead against hers.

“Neither have I,” he responds, smiling acceptingly as he nudges his nose against hers.

“Really?”

Arthur could be offended at her disbelief, but instead he kisses her nose, dropping to whisper a confirmation against her lips.

“I just would have thought, with you being elder – and all the girls, and how you’ve been all week…”

“I was never interested in any of them. All I ever wanted was you.”

Amelia nearly chokes on her tongue – she knew Arthur loved her, but he was still a teenager with many girls willing and available to him. Amelia knows firsthand, hears them talking in the showers, among themselves during downtime, a sort of pride swelling in her when she remembers that she is the object of Arthur’s affections, not any of them.

“Teagan tried to hire me an escort once, though, when we were in Rivet City,” Arthur adds, nuzzling his nose against her neck and pressing a kiss there. “Earlier that day he tried to talk to me about sex, ‘the birds and the bees,’ he called it. Ended up buying a woman to teach me herself, I guess. She showed up in my room half-naked that night and I was so embarrassed that I paid her fifty caps to leave.”

Amelia giggles in response, running her hand through Arthur’s hair as he nips at her neck, beard scratching against her shoulder. After a moment she hooks her hand under his chin, pulls his lips to hers to reciprocate his passion from earlier.

His confession has her feeling more confident in herself and she unzips his uniform, sliding her hands underneath it to push the sleeves from his shoulders. The jumpsuit falls to his hips as Arthur’s tongue slides into her mouth, Amelia grasping at his shoulders as his hips press down into hers. His erection presses against her thigh, and the effect it has on her is almost embarrassing. She presses her hips into his, the movement eliciting a groan from the man on top of her.

At that, she pulls back, hair tousled and lips swollen, Arthur looking down at her with half-lidded eyes as she speaks.

“I’m not…” _Sure? Comfortable? Ready?_

“We don’t have to-” _Have sex? Move further? Do anything at all?_

With the air cleared, the desperation of the moment dissipates, the two languidly kissing, slow rolls of their hips keeping them in the moment. A few minutes later Arthur pushes up her shirt, nudging it against the underwire of her bra while his thumbs trail over her ribs. Amelia sits up, lets Arthur pull her shirt off while she pushes his jumpsuit down his legs and onto the floor. Their chests press flush together, Arthur’s lips leaving hers to kiss at the newly exposed skin.

His fingers slip underneath the waistband of her shorts, pulling them hastily down her legs as his mouth trails lower, nipping at the flat planes of her stomach. Arthur trails back up her body, pressing a deep kiss to her lips as he claws at her back, unhooking the bra and pulling it off her shoulders. The scribe moans as his lips close over her nipple, teeth scraping against before trailing lower, tongue running along the waistband of her underwear as he looks up at her.

Amelia almost can’t believe the confidence in Arthur’s actions – she would have never guessed that he was as inexperienced as her by the way his fingers ease into her underwear, trailing across the swatch of hair between her legs. A moan escapes her lips when his fingers trail lower, running to the back of her underwear to grab at her ass. The buildup over the past few weeks only makes this sweeter, and he’s already full-erect by the time he rips the underwear off her legs, sitting back on Amelia’s calves to look her over.

She’s sprawled naked before him, hair disheveled and body littered with bite marks. Despite how many times he’s imagined this, nothing can live up to the real thing, the love and trust evident in her eyes as she looks down at him, the way she gasps when he leans forward and brushes a finger between her legs. She’s wet against the digit and Arthur can’t even believe that she’s here, that he’s touching her like this after all this time.

He’s so uncertain of himself, but he doesn’t show it, trying to do whatever comes natural, imitating some of the actions he’s learned from old dirty magazines. It seems to be working, Amelia barely able to contain herself at the head of the bed.

No one’s ever touched Amelia like this; she’s barely even delved into masturbation on her own. Every movement is like an electric shock, and it takes everything she has not to shout when Arthur shifts down, spreads her legs to run his tongue across her clit. She bites at her fist, fingers knotting in his dark hair as she lifts her hips off the bed.

Maxson can’t help but smile, locking eyes with her from between her thighs. It’s a weird action, unlike anything he’s ever done, but every bit of discomfort is worth it to see Amelia keening against him, to hear the sounds that escape her lips when his beard scratches against her sensitive folds.

His erection strains against his underwear begging for contact, and he tries his best to ignore it, to focus on Amelia’s pleasure. He lets one hand trail from her ass down to his own briefs, pressing the palm against himself to relieve at least some of the tension. He eases a finger inside her then, working it in and out as he nips at her clit, tonguing against it sparingly.

Amelia can’t stop herself then, a cry of Arthur’s name slipping out as she succumbs to the pleasure, vision whiting out as she trembles against him. Arthur pulls away, trails his hands up her body, winds them into her hair as he kisses her. He can’t help rutting his hips forward against her thigh, teeth biting down on his lip as Amelia slips her hands into the back of his briefs, pulls him forward in encouragement. One of Amelia’s hands trails to the front, and when she grips his cock in her fist Arthur almost explodes, whispering obscenities into her ear instead. Her grip is too loose, though, and Arthur reaches down into his briefs to close his hand over hers, to indicate how he wants her to proceed.

The blush that spreads across her cheeks only hurls him further towards the end, and it’s when Amelia runs her thumb across the head that he warns her. She continues despite, and Arthur moans her name as he spills into his underwear and onto her fist. Her face scrunches up at the mess and Arthur can’t help but laugh a bit while he tries to catch his breath. After a moment, he slips the briefs off his legs to wipe her hand and his stomach off.

Once seemingly clean, they lay naked on the bed, Amelia’s head resting on Arthur’s shoulder as she combs her fingers through his chest hair. She presses a soft kiss to his neck, smiling when he leans down to press one against her forehead.

They lay there for nearly a half hour, Amelia drifting in and out of sleep while Arthur lays next to her, awake with the words he wants to say to her. He eventually tires out, rolls onto his side to spoon a still-naked Amelia.

“I love you,” he whispers after he’s settled down, after he’s sure that she’s fallen asleep. He presses a soft kiss against her back. He drapes the blanket over them, turns off the light in his room before whispering those three words again in her ear.

Arthur misses the tear that rolls down her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	10. We Won't Bury You

Right before the Prydwen departed, Arthur reassigned some of his soldiers to various outposts in the Capital Wasteland in hopes of securing their presence again after their retreat to Adams. It was supposed to be a fairly quick op, around three dozen soldiers dropped off at the satellite relay station, trekking to Fort Bannister, Project Purity, the Washington Monument and the Galaxy News Radio building before calling for extraction near the Corvega factory. They set out on the Monday after the Prydwen’s departure, and should have finished by that Friday. However, the extraction call never came.

Jameson gave an order the following Tuesday to visit each location via vertibird before patrolling the airspace until the end of the week. Arthur and the Prydwen return the same day as the vertibird, the lancers reporting that at least seven soldiers have more than likely been captured or killed.

As soon as the Prydwen returns to location, Jameson hurries to brief Arthur and the rest of the council. When Arthur hears Cutler’s name mentioned, the situation takes a personal turn, and he orders Amelia to fetch Danse. As soon as the paladin learns of Cutler’s capture he volunteers to lead the mission, ready to pack up and ship out at that very moment. Arthur questions Danse’s motivation, his personal ties to the mission, but Danse assures him that will be able to fulfill his duties no matter what. The elder allows Danse to gather his crew and the team sets out the next morning.

Amelia and Haylen spend the next three weeks biting their nails, worrying about Danse, about Cutler, about their other brothers and sisters. They aren’t the only ones worried – the tension evident throughout the ranks, from elder to squire, proctor to paladin. It’s a small base; everyone is close to at least one of the missing soldiers and their unknown status resonates throughout the army’s daily affairs. Amelia forgoes her evenings with Arthur to spend time with Haylen, and the elder finds himself missing her more than he would have imagined.

When the paladin and his team return three weeks later, they’re unaccompanied, Danse stoic as he reports to the control tower to present the mission details to the council. He tells them of how they tracked the soldiers to a super mutant hive, how there was nothing remaining of the soldiers to report back with, not even their holotags.

“Knight Cutler,” Danse starts, voice cracking on the last syllable. “He was exposed, to the FEV. The mutants transformed him into one of _them_. I put him out of his misery, as per protocol.”

Danse grits his teeth through the last bit, Amelia audibly gasping in shock. She tries to compose herself, hands clamping over her mouth when everyone turns to stare at her. She makes eye contact with Danse first, then Arthur, who worriedly looks on.

“It is a shame that these events unfolded this way. Cutler was a fantastic knight; his death will be written into the Codex as a brave one,” Arthur addresses Danse after everyone’s eyes turn back to him. He takes a deep breath, willing the next words to come easily. “Paladin, you have performed remarkably. At this time, I would like to inform you that the council and I have selected you to head the Commonwealth recon squad set to leave in approximately a month. It's, it's a quick turnaround time, and if you have any qualms about taking on the mission-”

“It would be an honor, sir,” Danse interrupts. The paladin’s expression is unreadable, his features tight as he suppresses his internal conflict.

“This folder contains the names and profiles of the soldiers under your command. You should be at least mildly familiar with most of them already, especially Dawes and Haylen, who will be your second command and your medic, but nonetheless you are to spend the next few weeks training with them. Please make sure to get some rest beforehand, you're more than deserving of a few days leave if you choose. Will there be any questions?”

Danse takes the file from Arthur, tucks it into his power armor. “None, sir.”

“Dismissed, paladin.  The rest of you may be dismissed as well.”

Arthur rises to his feet to return their salute, nods at the door when Danse looks back questioningly. They can talk later – right now he wants to talk to Amelia. He meant to tell her in private, to break the news to her without being surrounded by the council. The time never came, and the proctors were pushing him to give Danse the assignment during his report so the paladin would have enough time to ready his squad.

When he’s finished gathering his folders together, he looks up, expecting Amelia to be leaning next to the door frame like she always does after meetings, waiting to accompany Arthur back to the Prydwen. There’s no one there, and when Arthur leaves the office, she’s not part of the group surrounding Danse, nor is she anywhere in sight once Arthur exits the tower.

Disappointed, Arthur begins his trek back to the Prydwen alone.

 

\------

 

Amelia doesn’t come to his quarters for dinner that evening. When he realizes she’s not coming, Arthur decides to take his meal in the mess deck, taking a seat across from Danse and Haylen. A few members of Danse’s recon squad join them, the paladin taking time to learn about their lives, to understand those under his command as not just soldiers, but people. Arthur admires the way he’s able to connect with them so easily, watching as the knights hang onto his every word; he wonders if he has that effect on the soldiers, if they hold him in similar regard. He is their elder, and a _Maxson_ at that, but he wonders if he’d be as respected as Danse if he wasn’t bound by his ancestral ties.

Arthur eats his meal in silence, the thoughts rolling around in his mind as he pushes food around the plate. He refrains from speaking until it’s just Danse and Haylen remaining at the table, the others having finished their meals and scurried off to wherever.

“How’s Amelia taking the news?” Haylen asks once Danse finishes whatever story he was telling. Neither she nor Arthur were paying much attention, each lost in their own swarm of thoughts.

“I haven’t seen her since the meeting. Have you heard from her?” Arthur answers, frowning when both Haylen and Danse shake their heads no. “I don’t like the thought of her being alone right now.”

“You could try the forecastle? Wouldn’t put it past her to be chain smoking right about now.” Danse suggests, features solemn as he leans his head into his fist. Haylen places a hand on his arm, looks worriedly at the paladin and suddenly Arthur feels like he’s intruding on a personal moment. He excuses himself, hushing them as they go to salute him.

He slips out of the mess hall without anyone noticing, keeping his head down in hopes that no one stops to salute. Without the identifying bomber jacket he’s just in an officer’s jumpsuit, and he’s thankfully able to reach the door to the forecastle uninterrupted. He pauses for a second to gather himself, hands splayed across the cold door before pushing it open.

Sure enough, Amelia’s sitting at the end of the deck, legs swinging over the ledge. There’s a cigarette in her right hand, a bottle of whiskey between her thighs, forehead resting on the railing as she looks out over the base. She doesn’t turn when the door slams, and Arthur’s not sure if that’s because she doesn’t hear him over the wind or if she’s intentionally ignoring him.

The elder doesn’t say anything, just steps forward slowly, trying not to startle the woman. She finally turns when he’s a few feet behind her, head turning up to meet his eyes quickly before diverting them back to the landscape.

Arthur sits down to her right, on the other side of the vertical bar; he wants to sit close to her, but understands that she probably wants space.

“Can I bum a smoke?” he asks gently. Amelia presses one against his lips after a moment, cups her hand around the flame as she tries to light it.

When it ignites she retreats, avoids eye contact as she stubs out her cigarette and takes a swig of the whiskey. Arthur takes a drag, eyes fixated on Amelia’s profile all the while.

“Why them?”

The words almost get lost in the wind, and if Arthur wasn’t looking right at her he probably wouldn’t have heard them.

It’s the question Arthur knew she would ask, the one’s he’s prepared to answer. He’s just not sure how to tell Amelia the truth without it coming out sounding utterly ridiculous.

“They’re the best at what they do,” is what he starts with, knowing that Amelia will press further. She does, barely a moment later.

“But why _both_ of them?”

Arthur sighs, stubs out his cigarette on the metal floor before flicking the bud over the railing, his palms closing over the metal right after.

“This wasn’t an easy choice, Amelia. Danse is undoubtedly my best paladin, and Haylen is one of our top field scribes. They’re my friends too, but we need our best -”

“There are others! Why are you sending my _only_ two friends to their deaths?” Amelia’s shouting at him, hands flailing wildly in exasperation. The emphasis on only hurts Arthur more than he’s willing to admit; she’s been spending less and less time with him, sure, but he thought that was just a result of worry, not of something greater. He thought once Danse returned things would get back to normal, that they would spend their evenings together again, that things would pick up where they left off.

“It’s either Haylen or you!” Arthur yells back, his grip tightening on the railing. Amelia’s eyes widen and she leans back to cross her arms, still glaring up at the elder. “I won’t – can’t – let the council send you away from me. And when I denied them you, they suggested Haylen, and I couldn’t deny them another over-qualified person without raising suspicions… about us.”

Arthur leans forward, tries to reach out to touch Amelia only to have her scoot back away from his hand. He drops his arm then but still moves closer, desperate to be close to her.

“You should just let them send me.”

Amelia’s nothing if not blunt, and Arthur pretends that her words don’t feel like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t have sent her – he’s too selfish, too desperate to keep her in his life, too unwilling to let her go.

“I can’t do that, Amelia. It’s, it’s so selfish and I know that, but I love you and I can’t let you go, not when I only just got you back.”

Arthur pleads with his eyes, begging Amelia to understand why he chose Haylen, to understand just how deep his love for her goes.

“You want me to stay here, but you continue to deny that there’s anything between us,” Amelia sighs, agitation lacing her words.

“You know it’s more complicated than that, Amelia. There’s rules, and protocol, and-”

“That’s a load of bullshit and you know it! You say you’re worried about losing the respect of your soldiers but I would bet that the majority of them wouldn’t even care! So what if I’m a fucking wastelander, Arthur? If you love me like you say you do, none of that would matter!”

Amelia jumps to her feet after the last word, grabbing the bottle of whiskey before stomping towards the exit.

“Amelia, wait!” Arthur scrambles after her. He doesn’t make it before the door closes in his face, struggling to pull it open against the wind. When he finally pulls it open, Amelia is rambling down the catwalk, and he sprints to catch up with her, wrapping a hand around her forearm before she rounds down the stairs.

“ _What?!_ ” Amelia bites, staring daggers up at the elder.

Arthur doesn’t say anything, just pulls her closer, presses her up against the railing before kissing her. He tries to put all of his unspoken words into the kiss, tries to convey his feelings in a simple press of lips. Amelia remains rigid under the touch and Arthur gives up after a few moments, dropping his arms as he slowly steps back, rubs the back of his neck in uncertainty.

“I, I’m not ready to tell people, about us,” Arthur starts, and he hurries his next words as Amelia rolls her eyes. “It’s not that I’m ashamed of you, or any of that, it’s just – I’m a Maxson, Amelia. And if we make this, whatever this is, a formal thing, then people are going to expect things, from us. From you, specifically.”

Amelia relaxes a bit, leans back on the railing with crossed arms and curiosity, indicating for Arthur to continue speaking.

“I-I’m almost twenty. Lost Hills is pushing me to have kids already, and if we make what’s between us, well, _official_ , then they’re just going to expect us to, uh, well, get _busy_ , I guess. And I – I don’t think I’m really, prepared for that, you know? The Brotherhood, the Brotherhood’s in a good place, I’m _finally_ starting to feel like I’m the leader that I’m supposed to be, and throwing a baby on top of that would just…”

He trails off, blush on his cheeks as he explains the situation to Amelia. The senior scribe looks sympathetically at him, uncrossing her arms as she attempts to appear more considerate. Arthur takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and rushes his last words.

“I don’t want you to experience that. Because once I tell Lost Hills that we’re together, that’s more than likely _it_ , and I want you to _choose_ me, not be stuck with me and a kid in a position that you don’t want to be in.”

When he opens his eyes, Amelia’s still staring up at him, face blank. Arthur sighs, goes to turn away. He’s stopped by Amelia’s hand on his forearm, the woman biting her lip before she speaks.

“I’m so- I’m sorry. I didn’t think that everything would be so – complicated,” Amelia starts, gaze shifting to the floor before she looks back up at him. “I, I’m still upset, about Danse and Haylen, but I get why you did it, sort of. And if you still want me, then I promise that I’ll keep this,” she motions between the two of them, “between us. I’m impatient though, so don’t expect me to wait around forever.”

Arthur’s thankful, _so_ thankful that she’s so understanding. He tries to convey his gratitude, leaning forward to press his lips against hers softly. They’re still out in the open, and all anyone would need to do is walk up the stairs to get a clear shot at their indiscretions. But when Amelia’s hand comes up to grip at his jaw, when she reciprocates the kiss, Arthur finds himself not caring if anyone sees.

And maybe that’s the opposite of what he just explained to Amelia, but when he pulls her flush against him, when she smiles ever so slightly into the kiss, when their bodies collide, Arthur realizes, once again, that everything he’s ever wanted is right in front of him. It’s just up to him to take the final step.

 

\------

 

Just over a month later, as spring gives way to summer, Haylen, Danse, and the rest of Recon Squad Gladius are poised at the gate of the base, a small crowd gathered around the vertibird that will drop the squad just north of what used to be Baltimore.

Arthur gives a small speech, nothing fancy, and he and the rest of the crowd disperse to wish the squad well. He embraces Danse and Haylen, salutes the other soldiers and chats idly with each of them. Amelia spends the time basically shadowing Haylen, following the woman around as she converses with various soldiers, only leaving her side to talk with Danse once the paladin is alone. She hugs him, Danse’s arms sturdy around her as he reminds her to be strong, to stay on track. He even bends down to whisper something in her ear, the senior scribe giggling a bit as she pulls back with a blush. The paladin laughs, and the hug again before parting.

The elder watches it all unfold with a smile on his face, turning back to Dawes when the older man stops speaking. Arthur just nods, excuses himself to speak once more with Haylen and Danse before gathering everyone’s attention.

“The time has reached 1000 hours, and it is time for us to part with Recon Squad Gladius. Once again, we wish you all a safe and successful journey. Ad victoriam.”

He quickly returns the salute of his soldiers, stepping back to watch the recon squad load up the vertibird. Danse passes by the elder to salute him once more, Arthur nodding towards the paladin before he turns to join his crew. Amelia slides up beside Arthur, keeping enough distance between them to be professional. Just having the elder by her side at such an indispensable moment helps to relax her, and she even manages a last wave to Haylen before the vertibird zooms out of view.

When the crew is out of view, Arthur turns to Amelia, asks her to join him in his quarters for dinner. She accepts, of course, and the two begin their journey back to the Prydwen in silence. Arthur aches to take her hand, to do something to calm the tension evident in her body language. As soon as they’re in the privacy of his quarters he does just that: pulls her into his arms, lets her cry the tears that she’s been holding in for so long.

He guides her to the bed after a few minutes, holding her in a more comfortable position for the next hour, ignores the knocks on his door. When she’s all cried out, Arthur kisses her forehead, lays her down on the bed and excuses himself to grab them dinner. He grabs one plate, loads it up with enough for two, but when he gets back Amelia’s curled on her side, presumably asleep with the covers tucked in close around her.

Arthur eats the meal quickly, wolfing down the extra portions, the plate remaining on the desk. He tries to get some work done, tries to respond to some mail on his terminal, but it’s futile, the elder too distracted by the woman in his bed to concentrate properly. After nearly an hour he crawls in behind her, wraps an arm around her waist and presses a kiss to the back of her head.

The elder doesn’t let go of her until the sun rises for the new day, for the first day Amelia will spend in the Brotherhood without Danse by her side.

 

\------

 

The morning after Danse’s departure, she sneaks out of Arthur’s room without a trace, and the elder doesn’t see or hear from her much in the months that pass. No one does.

Amelia stops coming to council meetings after that. She lessens her involvement in a lot of things, from extra work to social events, even the meals spent in Arthur’s quarters.

The senior scribe shows up to her duties, does them quickly and retreats back to her office off the Prydwen, where she’s rarely bothered. With the promotion of Neriah, most of Amelia’s work gets diverted away from her, Ingram easing up Amelia’s workload. The young woman looks like hell, and the proctor’s only seen her like this once before – when she was first transferred to the air base.

Arthur elects to leave Amelia to her own devices; it’s probably the best option for the time being. Kells and Cade, the lancer-captain especially, are starting to grow suspicious, noticing how much time Arthur spends in his quarters with the door closed, how Amelia always seems to linger around the elder.

Time away from Amelia doesn’t hurt as much as it probably should, and he’s not sure whether that’s a good or a bad thing. They really only see each other a couple times a week and usually it’s very fleeting, a rushed meal or a quick kiss in the hallway. They don’t spend their nights together anymore, and eventually their alone time all but ceases.

Arthur’s not sure if they’re still together, if Amelia still wants them to be together. She always looks so tired, so weighed down by responsibility and internal conflict. The elder isn’t bothered as much by the ordeal as he probably should be; he knows that Amelia needs time to recover and he’s willing to let her have it. He still smiles at her in the hallways, brushes a hand over hers when she walks pass. Occasionally they talk, more formal than they’re used to, but it’s something. It’s not complete silence, not like it was before.

Amelia spends her nights on the old catwalk of the hangar smoking cigarettes and drinking herself into oblivion. It’s not healthy, she knows that, but she can’t help herself. The self-destruction dulls the pain, the ache in her heart from the absence of her best friends.

It’s companionship that she misses, the ease of being around people she loves. It should be a simple fix, trading Danse and Haylen for Arthur, but there’s just that itch under her skin that reminds her that it’s Arthur’s fault that she’s like this, that she’s alone. She wishes she could let herself fall into him, let him fill the gap, but she can’t. Not when he keeps upheaving her life like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than writing anything this week, I went back and edited the first couple chapters 'cause I felt like how my characters developed wasn't really cohesive with the way I portrayed them earlier and that didn't really sit well with me. You don't have to go back and read them if you don't want to (it's just the first and second) because it's just little tidbits to establish a little more of Amelia before she joined the Brotherhood, and of her and Arthur's relationship before their first night on the range.
> 
> But yeah, I've had this chapter written for like two weeks and I've edited it a bunch and I'm not really happy with how it came out, but I'm just kind of hitting a bit of writer's fatigue so I'm trying to push through it. I've got the next chapter mostly finished, and I think once I hammer that one out, I should be able to get things out a little easier. 
> 
> If you read all my ramblings, thank you! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	11. On the Road to Romance

The elder’s twentieth birthday rolls around when summer fades to fall, nearly four months after Gladius’s departure. There’s a huge celebration, bigger than the one for the Prydwen’s launch, than all of the Brotherhood’s previous bashes. Something about Arthur entering his second decade ignites a fire in the Brotherhood, and when the sun sets on that September evening the Prydwen is lit up like a pre-war campground, old-light bulbs strung up along the scaffolding in celebration. Arthur insists that it’s too much, but he lets everyone indulge themselves; there’s going to be a lot of things changing soon and the least he can do for his soldiers is permit a little fun. He’s even gone so far as giving all of his soldiers the day off tomorrow, so there’s no limit to how much his soldiers can consume, how far they can let themselves go.

Since it’s his birthday, he’s in the spotlight as the night goes on, Kells, Ingram, Teagan and Jameson each giving a toast in his honor. When the formality is out of the way, they set up the radio, pre-war tunes mixing with the pop of corks as champagne is sloshed into glasses, wine splashing onto the floor as initiates and commanding officers alike indulge themselves a little too much. It’s a worry for another day, and Arthur holds a glass of whiskey between his palms as Kells and Quinlan chat in front of him, the elder present in the conversation but not contributing.

Arthur’s only slightly buzzed, choosing to keep his alcohol intake in check despite it being his party. Getting drunk and embarrassing himself is unbecoming of an elder, and despite his youth he’s too self-conscious to let himself relax, to allow himself to be young and reckless and carefree.

As if to remind him of his significance, Proctor Quinlan pulls him aside once Kells dips out of the conversation, his ever serious tone aggravating Arthur even through his intoxication.

“Lost Hills has sent another message concerning your heir, Elder Maxson,” Quinlan starts, and Arthur can tell that he’s probably the only one aboard who has elected not to drink. “With everything that we’ve discovered recently, they believe you should begin searching for a partner sooner rather than later. It’s of the utmost importance to continue your bloodline, sir, as I know you’re well aware of. I can begin gathering a list of possible suitors if-”

“That won’t be necessary, proctor,” Arthur retorts, trying to hide the blush that creeps up his neck. “I am aware of the importance of my bloodline, but I will marry when I find a wife, not when one is assigned to me.”

“With all due respect, sir, with, well,” the old man’s voice lowers, looks around to make sure no one is listening. “With _war_ on the horizon you should be more mindful of who will inherit your position if things, well, if they don’t turn out optimal, I suppose.”

Arthur’s bothered by Quinlan’s words, how he seems so sure that Arthur’s going to die young in battle. It’s not that he’s unmindful of his bloodline, it’s more that he feels unsuited for parenthood, to bear the responsibility of a child while he’s still figuring out who he is, as both a leader and a person.

“I will put some thought to it. That will be all, proctor.”

Thankfully, Quinlan leaves without saying anything further. Arthur gulps back his whiskey, pours himself another one to nurse as he watches over his subordinates.

It’s not the first time Quinlan’s brought up the situation of an heir in the past few months; it seems that Lost Hills is increasingly concerned with who Arthur’s sharing his bed with now that he’s not sharing it with anyone. He wishes it could be easy, that he could just name Amelia as his bride without the stigma, without the politics and the looming presence of Lost Hills. It’s not something he wants to subject Amelia too, not when their relationship is already rocky to begin with.

Thankfully, as his mind turns to more somber thoughts, Teagan and Ingram approach him with smiles on their faces, a slight buzz lingering in the sway of their step. Tucked beneath Teagan’s arm is a box, and while Arthur already knows what it contains, he perks up a bit at the surprise. He didn’t know it’d be completed so early.

“Surprise!” Teagan calls, laughing at himself as he thrusts the box into the elder’s arms. Arthur opens the box hastily, runs a hand over the leather before pulling it out, dropping the box onto the ground.

When he unfurls the coat, it’s a much nicer quality than he expected, and he should’ve known that Teagan and Ingram wouldn’t have fouled up something so important.

“What do you think?” Ingram asks, smile reaching up to the woman’s eyes as Arthur slides off his bomber jacket and pulls his arms through the new coat.

Arthur can’t help but grin as he smooths the coat down over his torso, the leather coming to rest against his knees. He flips the collar up, rubs his hands over the lapels, over the Brotherhood patch sewn onto the arm, down across the buckles and into his pockets.

“It’s fantastic. I wasn’t expecting it to be finished so soon,” Arthur remarks, beaming at the two proctors.

“We hurried it a little bit to have it ready for today. I thought we’d have to tailor it to you a little more but it seems to be fitting pretty well,” Ingram replies, reaching out to adjust one of the buckles on Arthur’s hip.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Arthur shakes both of their hands, laughing a bit when Teagan pulls him into a bear hug. The drunker proctor stands back, chuckling at Arthur’s flushed cheeks before clasping him on the shoulder and stalking off with Ingram in tow. The elder feels so _official_ in his new coat, with his hair and beard trimmed up and clean for the festivities, and he stands a little taller, replaces the scowl on his face with a rare smile.

People start approaching Arthur more after that, complimenting him on his coat, offering him drinks, shots, dances, whatever. The elder is slightly intimidated by all the attention, especially when a female knight decides she’s going to get a little handsy with his new coat, running her hands over Arthur’s arms as she goes on about how _nice_ it is, how _muscular_ Arthur looks in it. He excuses himself when she tries to run a hand under his jacket, all but running away from the disappointing look on her face.

Two more women approach him in similar manners, and Arthur wonders if Quinlan’s the one pushing them forward. When a fourth woman approaches him, asks him to dance, Arthur notices Teagan smirking from across the room, Ingram hiding her face in her hand behind him, and the elder can’t help but roll his eyes, pushing past the flirtatious woman in front of him to confront the proctor.

“Cut it out,” Arthur demands of Teagan, but there’s of course no weight behind the words. The proctor just laughs harder, punches Arthur lightly in the shoulder when the elder continues to glare. Ingram excuses herself then, walks away from a conversation that she’s sure she wants no part in.

“Come on, boy! Lighten up a bit! It’s your birthday, there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself,” Teagan smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at Arthur. “Wait – don’t tell me that women aren’t your thing!”

“That’s not – no. That’s not why I’m not-”

“Oh, you still a virgin then? Didn’t think you were gonna hook up with that bird in Rivet City way back when, but c’mon! You still haven’t gotten your dick sucked?”

If Teagan was sober, Arthur probably would put him in line, but in his own intoxication he blushes, eyes darting around to make sure no one’s overheard them.

“Oo-oh! Don’t tell me you’ve already got a girl! Who is it? Where is she?”

Arthur walks from Teagan’s drunken antics then, ignores the proctor’s shout of “bet she’s smokin’!” that follows him. The proctor usually isn’t this bad, but he’s a little more intoxicated than usual, and with Ingram not there to police him he’s a little out of control.

With that, Arthur’s pretty much reached his capacity for human interaction, and he starts to slip away into the shadows, hopeful that no one will bother him. Maybe there’s one person Arthur wouldn’t being bothered by, though.

When he’s successfully slipped through the crowd, past the soldiers wishing him happy birthday, he checks over his shoulder from the shadows, making sure that no one’s paying him any attention. He darts up the stairs when he’s sure no one’s looking, stalks across the catwalk until he’s pushing the door open to the forecastle, not even concerned whether or not someone’s watching him, whether he’ll be looked for or not. A bit foolish since it is _his_ party after all, but Arthur doesn’t even care if they look for him. Ingram knows him well enough that she’ll figure out that he exhausted himself.

Amelia’s on the forecastle, though, of course she is, perched with her legs dangling over the side, cigarette in hand like always. Arthur can’t help but smile when he sees her, still slightly buzzed as he walks forward, plops himself right beside Amelia without even a word of greeting.

The woman doesn’t say anything to him either, just hands him a lit cigarette as she continues to stare out over the railing. Arthur’s so happy that she just _gets_ him, and he leans his head on her shoulder as he inhales the smoke.

“Nice coat,” Amelia offers after a minute, smiling down at Arthur when he pulls back to look at her.

Arthur blushes a little, ducks his head as he mutters out a quiet thanks. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so shy around Amelia, maybe because she seems so composed, so put together right now when Arthur’s feeling so unsteady.

Amelia smiles a bit wider at his bashfulness. She takes a drag from her cigarette, unable to stop herself from rubbing her free hand over his shoulder, under the lapels and down Arthur’s chest, pulling ever so slightly at the zipper of his jumpsuit.

The women from earlier touched him in similar ways, but Amelia’s touch is light, undemanding, pleasant, and instead of flinching away he leans into the touch, lets her run her fingers down the seams and over the buckles.

“Is it inappropriate to say that you look sexy as hell right now?” Amelia smirks at him, and Arthur’s head spins, gut pooling with warmth as his cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red.

“Is that so?” is all he can offer in return, and Amelia just laughs, flicks her cigarette over the balcony before gripping the lapels of Arthur’s jacket, pulling him down for a kiss.

Arthur’s stunned by her brashness after they’ve gone so long without this; it’s been nearly two weeks since the last time they looked at each other, let alone kissed or touched or exchanged words. He wraps his arms around her waist after a moment, pulls her onto his lap so he can deepen the kiss.

Amelia giggles a bit into his mouth and Arthur takes the opportunity to taste her, to brush his tongue against hers for a fleeting moment. When she reciprocates, Arthur delves deeper, exploring her mouth, tasting whiskey on her tongue. That explains her brashness, then.

His hands drop to her ass, pulling her even closer to him. Amelia’s hands knot in the short chop of his hair as she smiles into the kiss, letting Arthur take control.

When Amelia tries to pull away, Arthur holds her in place, another giggle escaping her mouth as his lips trail across her jaw, down her neck.

“I missed you so much,” Arthur mumbles, lips unrelenting as Amelia leans back. Her movement only expands the amount of skin available for Arthur to kiss, and his lips trace across the scoop of her shirt collar, dipping underneath to bite at her collarbone.

“Mmm – I missed you too,” Amelia almost moans in response, Arthur’s hands squeezing at her ass before trailing his lips back to hers.

It’s been a while since they’ve done anything, their last intimate interaction occurring nearly a month and a half ago, when Arthur pushed her against the wall in his quarters, wiggled his fingers into her underwear until she was panting against him. This, this feels different, the desperation evident in the way Arthur grabs at her, how his hands and lips are all over her, everywhere at the same time. Amelia’s a little uncertain of how to proceed, not really sure if she’s ready to pick up where they left off, not when she’s still mending her wounds.

“Arthur,” she breathes, hand pressing to Arthur’s chest like she always does when things start to move too quickly. She can’t formulate the next words, though, but Arthur can read her like a book, knows exactly what’s running through her mind. And he knows exactly what will cheer her up.

“We’re going to find Danse,” Arthur blurts out, hands firmly on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes to reassure her that he’s telling the truth. “They found some data, some energy readings that indicate some sort of powerful tech. Haylen got in contact with us a couple days ago. They’re both okay, and we’re going to get them back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this two days ago, asshole?” Amelia asks, halfheartedly shoving at Arthur’s shoulder. There’s no bite to her words though, a real smile on her face for the first time since the recon squad left.

“I wanted to! I wanted to tell you, privately, but Quinlan’s been watching me like a hawk lately.”

Amelia just laughs, presses her forehead against his as her smile spreads wider.

“They’re okay!”

Arthur kisses her then, and when she kisses him back he knows he’s forgiven. For now.

 

 

\------

 

The Brotherhood doesn’t head for the Commonwealth right away. They spend almost two months preparing, recruiting, reading, researching. Everyone knows they’re setting up for travel, but to where is a need to know basis – only the elder, Kells, Cade and Amelia know that they’re heading to the area that used to be Boston. Arthur and Kells pour over the data from the original Commonwealth recon squad, the one sent by Owyn Lyons right as the Prydwen’s construction commenced, hoping that there’s something in the data that will benefit them. They’re not just preparing for battle this time, they’re preparing for war, something they can’t take lightly.

Arthur and Amelia spend their nights on the forecastle, smoking, joking, playing cards, keeping things fairly calm for the time being. On the night before they’re set to leave for the Commonwealth, they’re on the deck, Amelia teaching the elder a new card game learned from some travelers. They sit across from each other, legs crossed and glasses of whiskey in hand, laughing over their game, over the stupid jokes they exchange.

When Amelia finally beats Arthur, the elder throws his cards down on the ground in mock anger, and Amelia laughs as she sets down her own cards, crawls over them to kiss the pout off Arthur’s face. The elder’s hands slide into her hair, holding her close as she settles into his lap, smiles on both of their faces as their lips press and slide.

After a moment, Amelia sits back on her calves, smiling up at Arthur while he runs his hand across her jaw, thumb pulling ever so slightly on her bottom lip.

“I’m nervous, about going to the Commonwealth,” she says unexpectedly, leaning into Arthur’s touch. He trails his hand across her shoulder, down her arm until he can link his fingers with hers, wills her to continue. “It’s – not like the Pitt, you know. The Institute is a bigger threat than irradiated slaves.”

“I’m more than aware of that,” Arthur responds, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re not going in with guns blazing – there’s more strategy involved this time.”

“There’s not gonna be an Ashur this time to make things easy. From what we’ve got from Danse, the people in the Commonwealth aren’t really open to the Brotherhood, not the way the people in the Capital were. It’s uncharted territory for us, there’s too many unknowns and I just – I just don’t to lose more people – lose you.”

The last words are but a whisper, and Amelia wraps her arms around herself, shivering in the cold as she pulls away from Arthur. The elder gives her the space, lets her collect herself as she avoids eye contact like she always does when something’s upset her.

“What’s this really about?” Arthur asks, closing the distance between them to take her hands in his again. Amelia looks up at him, hates that she’s so obvious, hates that Arthur can read her like a book. She can’t tell him why even the notion of the Commonwealth affects her like this, not when Arthur’s so driven, so dedicated to their cause, not when he’s got the entire Brotherhood rallying around him, even if they don’t know where they’re going, who they’re facing. She can’t tell him the truth when he’s the most confident he’s ever been, not when he’s finally starting to think of himself as a real leader.

When she sighs, her breath is shaky, and she takes a moment to compose herself, deciding to subdue the truth for now. She can’t just say that nothing’s bothering her, though, so she takes another moment to gather her words, to tell Arthur about another, less insistent issue that’s been plaguing her.

“I’m just, worried I guess. I’ve never been at war – I’m not really cut out for it. I’m a scribe, I tinker with things and read books. I barely know how to shoot a gun, let alone kill-”

Amelia stops, voice catching in her throat as she starts to shake. She drops her face into her hands, trying to will the tears away, to not breakdown in front of Arthur. Her past is about to collide with her future, her old family with her new one, and it’s not something that she thought she was ever going to have to face. She’s crying now, sobs wracking her body as old memories are drudged up; memories that she thought she’d buried long ago coming back clear as day, memories of her parents, of her former home, of the people she used to know before everything changed.

She can feel Arthur rubbing his hands over her arms, hears him whispering her name, telling her to calm down, that everything’s going to be okay, that he’s here. None of it really registers, the scribe too caught up in her own thoughts to pay attention to the present. It’s when a strong gust of wind brushes across the deck that she’s brought back to reality. The draft sends a chill through her bones, shakes her to her core, and she quickly wipes the tears from her eyes only to rub her hands down her arms, her t-shirt not doing much to protect her from the cold.

Without hesitation, Arthur pulls off his coat, wraps it around Amelia’s shoulders. His lips curl a bit at just how large it is on her, how she’s almost swallowed up by it. The scribe smiles appreciatively, pulls her arms through the sleeves before tucking her legs close to her body. Arthur scoots towards her until their legs are touching, hands curling over her knees as he ponders what to say, how to comfort her when she’s so obviously distraught.

“I’m scared too, Amelia,” Arthur eventually offers, ducking his head, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “I’m scared for the lives we’re inevitably going to lose. I’m scared that we might not be the ones to come out on top. But most of all I’m scared that my life could end in battle before I get to spend it with you.”

Arthur pauses when he sees another tear roll down Amelia’s cheek. He leans closer then, presses a soft kiss against the same cheek before nudging his nose against hers.

“I love you so much, Amelia,” he continues, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “I don’t want to die before I can convince you of that.”

Arthur kisses her again, a little more insistent this time. Amelia returns the gesture quickly, once she’s wiped the tears from her cheeks.

The elder is the one to pull away first, presses once last kiss to her forehead before pulling away. He grabs the whiskey, pours a bit into Amelia’s glass and passes it to her before filling his own. Amelia wraps her fingers around the glass, goes to gulp it down before Arthur stops her, raising his own glass in indication of a toast.

“To the unknown,” he says after a moment, drinking down his glass. Amelia does the same after a short pause, and once the whiskey runs down her throat she can’t help but laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” she decides after setting down her glass. Arthur chuckles in response, gasping when Amelia launches herself at him, slams into his chest as she tries to kiss him, misses and hits his nose instead.

They both laugh at that, giggles muffled by the press of their lips, the heat from their bodies keeping them warm despite the wind.

 

 

\------

 

They leave for the Commonwealth at the break of dawn less than a week later, arrive on the outskirts of the former metropolis right near midnight. Arthur dispatches the vertibirds once the skyscrapers are in sight, announces to the Commonwealth their peaceful intentions, asks them not to interfere. The Prydwen flies over the city, docking at the old airport after easily wiping out the feral ghouls infesting the area.

Arthur brings a bottle of wine to the forecastle that night, Amelia sitting between his legs as they pass the bottle back and forth, watch as the sun rises behind them and illuminates the skyline.

The dawn approaches and with it comes a new beginning. For the Brotherhood. For the two intoxicated soldiers on the deck, too lost in each other to think about the approaching day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I've been really struggling, guys. I've been working a lot recently and I've been so exhausted, and when I think about this fic I think about how much I want to change, but I don't want to force you guys to go back and read things when I change them up, so I'm refraining. But!! I think to put myself at a bit of ease I might start adding some "deleted scene" type things - make this fic a series and write up somethings expanding on Arthur and Amelia' s relationship during some of the time jumps.
> 
> So yeah, I probably won't do that for another chapter or two, cause I wanna make sure that I stay a chapter ahead in my writing. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! I'm sorry that my author's notes are so whiny :(


	12. Nights that Won't End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, updating twice in the same week.

It’s the day after the Prydwen’s arrival that Danse reunites with the Brotherhood, and as soon as Amelia’s informed about the paladin’s return, she’s running through the halls, yelling at Ingram that she’ll be back in a little while before she clambers down the ladder noisily. She only just stops herself from launching at the paladin when she notices Arthur addressing a gaggle of initiates, Danse standing towards the back of the crowd as he looks on towards a woman in a blue vault suit. Amelia smiles at Danse when he looks at her, and the older man nods towards the door, Amelia following him as he moves to exit.

When they’re outside on the flight deck, Amelia all but flings herself at him, jumps to throw her arms around his neck, the cold metal of his power armor suspending her body in midair.

“I missed you too,” Danse laughs after a moment, patting her awkwardly on the back with his armorer fingers, steadying her as she slips down the front of his suit.

Amelia bounces on the balls of her feet, eager as a schoolgirl. The smile on her face pulls at her cheeks, the scribe unable to stop smiling at the sight of her best friend in front of her after nearly five months apart.

She bombards him with questions them, asking him about Haylen, about his explorations in the Commonwealth, how he’s feeling. She tries to keep the questions light, already informed about the massive losses that the squad took. Danse informs here that he’s doing alright, that Haylen is fine despite all the trauma, that she’s holed up at the fortified police station at the moment, but Amelia’s more than welcome to visit.

When Danse starts looking back at the door, Amelia stops asking questions, jumps up to give him another hug before they head back inside. Danse stops her right before she pulls open the door, tells her that he’s been collecting books for her, that they’re all back at the police station whenever she wants to come get them. She can’t help but hug him again, thanking him over and over before he hushes her, pushes her gently through the door.

She has every intention of heading back up to the power armor bay to continue her duties, but when she sees Arthur, addressing a very curvaceous woman clad in a skin-tight vault suit, she pauses, a bit of jealousy flaring up in her before she can think rationally. Arthur stares down his nose at the woman, scowl on his face as he speaks to her. The scribe can’t hear what he’s saying from where she’s posed beside the door, but she notices that Danse doesn’t move to go about his duties either; the paladin instead stares on at the woman in the vault suit, and suddenly Amelia is more than curious.

It feels like forever, but when the elder finally dismisses the vault dweller, Amelia takes note of how she saddles right up to Danse, makes what appears to be a joke if Danse’s laughter is anything to go by. Amelia’s curiosity grows thicker; there are very few people in this world who can make Danse laugh, and to see him smile so effortlessly after all the hardship he’s endured over the past few months, well, Amelia might just need to find out what makes this vault dweller tick.

Amelia makes eye contact with Arthur from across the deck, stalks across the deck until she plops herself down onto one of the recently recovered couches.

“Who was that?” she asks, posture way too comfortable, too disrespectful for someone in the presence of the elder. Arthur wouldn’t care, but he glances at the knight stationed outside the doorframe to bring his presence to Amelia’s attention. She can’t help but frown, pulling herself to sit up on the couch, a little less personal.

A still-standing Arthur extends his hand to her, and when Amelia grabs it, he takes the opportunity to pull her a little closer than he might with other soldiers, just enough so he can whisper in her ear.

“I’ll tell you tonight. Forecastle, after dinner?”

“It’s a date,” Amelia replies softly, leaning back to smile up at the elder. She salutes him then, a bit overdramatically so the knight outside Arthur’s door can hear.

Arthur represses a smile then, and Amelia climbs up the ladder for the main deck to return to her duties. When she reaches the power armor bay, Danse is there with the vault dweller, the two talking to Ingram. The scribe walks by them, hoping to catch a bit of their conversation. All she hears is a quick bit about Ingram’s accident before she retreats to bay number two, grabbing for the wrench haphazardly thrown on the table earlier. She makes sure to position herself so she can watch Danse and the new woman, watches the way Danse animatedly talks to her, the smile he gives her when she crosses to bay three and gets into an unclaimed power armor suit.

Amelia grows even more curious when the two depart the area, head through the mess deck to god knows where. What is a vault dweller doing in their ranks? What is she doing under Danse’s command? Why does she get her own power armor?

There’s a million things she wants to ask Arthur, but for now, all she can do is roll up her sleeves and resume her duties.

 

\------

 

By the time dinner rolls around, Amelia is bursting at the seams with questions for Arthur, and after she grabs her meal she all but runs up the stairs, dodging a patrolman as she heads up to the forecastle. Arthur’s already there, sitting cross-legged on the deck in just his jumpsuit, back against the railing as he eats from his bowl of noodles. Amelia smiles when she sees him, plopping down in his lap with a quick greeting kiss before she digs into her own meal.

“So who’s the vaultie?” she asks after she’s settled, mouthful of noodles. Arthur raises an eyebrow at her terrible manners, wipes a bit of sauce off the corner of her mouth with his thumb before responding.

“She’s pre-war, apparently. Been frozen for some two hundred years. Danse said her name is Nora, Nora Jones, I think? Said she helped clear out some ferals from their station and get the transmitter that let them get in contact with us,” Arthur answers, fingers combing through Amelia’s hair lightly as he does so. The scribe’s eyes widen at the story.

“ _Pre-war?_ So she was around when the bombs fell?” Amelia’s so excited by the prospect of having a non-ghoul to talk history about. Not that she holds any adversity towards ghouls in particular, just, well, they sort of smell bad. And a lot of them aren’t very nice to non-ghouls. “Oh my god, I have so many questions.”

And she does. There’s a million things to ask the woman, _Nora_. Sure, she’s curious about life before the bombs, but there’s so much more. She wants to know about the history that’s been lost to time, the history that came before Nora herself. Wants to know if Nora’s familiar with the books she’s read, with Orwell and Shakespeare and Locke, what occupation Nora held before the world ended.

Surely she’s not the only one begging to ask questions, but if Nora is currently operating under Danse’s command then she’s sure she’ll be able to ask them eventually.

She’s quiet, mind reeling through all the possibilities as she finishes her meal. Arthur’s arms wind around her when she finishes, pulls her chest flush against his so she’s straddling him, desperate to hold her, keep her warm despite the wind. Her arms wind around his neck, Arthur’s head resting on her chest while she rests her own atop his hair, the greasy strands tickling her nose.

They sit there for a while, making idle conversation as they watch the sunset over the skyline, red and purple intermixing with the darkness as the sun falls over the horizon. Amelia brings out her deck of cards once it’s dark, and they launch into games then, bickering, sneaking kisses, ignoring their evening duties in favor of spending time together.

Hours pass, and when Amelia glances at her pocket watch she notes that it’s past midnight, that most everyone’s likely in bed at this point, aside from the necessary guards. It’s late enough they could get back to Arthur’s quarters without being spotted, but she’s not really tired, not really in the mood to be restricted to those four walls.

“I miss sneaking out,” Amelia says after around the seventh time she beats Arthur at poker. The elder doesn’t say anything at first, just quirks an eyebrow at the woman as she sighs and leans back against the railing.

“Isn’t this technically sneaking out?” he asks. And yeah, it sort of is, considering that they don’t tell anyone that they’re out here, and that can sometimes create issues for Arthur, with him being elder and all. But Cade told him a couple weeks ago, when he was feeling especially stressed, that time alone is good for his psyche, and so when he disappears for hours at night, it’s technically because of the doctor’s orders. Technically.

Amelia responds with a grunt, rolling her head over her shoulders, trying to will the restlessness from her bones. When it doesn’t work, she gets to her feet, shaking out her legs to get feeling in them, pacing up and down the forecastle because she’s just so _fidgety_ , needs to go do something before she goes crazy.

“Doesn’t count, we’re still on the ship. I mean – like we used to. At the Citadel.”

Arthur gets what she’s saying – wants the feeling of being alone without straying too far, wants to go somewhere where they can be themselves, where they aren’t just an opened door away from being caught.

And maybe Amelia’s a little stir crazy, having spent too much time aboard the Prydwen over the last month. She hasn’t left the ship but a few times, when they were still at Adams, and maybe it’s time for her feet to feel solid ground again.

It’s then that she has an idea. It’s a crazy, stupid idea, and Arthur might think she’s insane, but it’s something, and she’s running with it.

Amelia crosses to Arthur, extending her hands out to him so she can help the elder to his feet. She laces one hand in his, smile on her face as she tugs him towards the exit.

“C’mon,” she urges him, tugging him quickly through the door before catching it, making sure that it doesn’t slam behind them. For her plan to work, they have to avoid the patrols, and the loud slam of the forecastle door is sure to make some heads turn.

The scribe’s light on her feet, walking brusquely while still dragging Arthur along. The elder’s not really sure what’s on her mind, just that she seems determined, and he knows it’s just better if he doesn’t question her.

They have to dodge a few patrolling knights, the metallic clanging of power armor warning the duo to their presence long before they can see them. They cross the top deck unnoticed, and Amelia looks over the railing quickly to judge where the rest of the patrollers are.

When she notices the coast is clear, she tugs him down the stairs, taking them quickly but quietly as they descend. At the bottom of the first flight, she presses a hand to Arthur’s chest, stopping him without words so she can duck her head around the corner and make sure the coast is clear. There’s no one in their vicinity, and she motions for him to follow her down the second flight, repeating the action when they reach the main level. She knows Teagan isn’t in his cage at this hour, but she still stops to double check, to peer down the hallway. There’s a knight poised at the end of the hall, but he’s facing away from them, and without further ado she pulls Arthur into the power armor bay.

“Get in,” she whispers, motioning to the power armor sitting in bay four, a knight insignia donning it.

“What?” Arthur responds, and Amelia just smiles at him, bounces a bit on the balls of her feet.

“Get in!”

Arthur can’t deny her – not when excitement is so evident in her eyes, in her every movement. He twists the latch, flinching a bit as it opens with a loud hiss, climbing in it and securing himself quickly before anyone can come by. Amelia smiles, jogs across the deck to climb into a frame lacking armor. She adjusts it a bit before stalking back to Arthur, smiling at how they’re the same height for once. The elder smiles back before he realizes she can’t see it, not with him encased in the helmet.

“What now?” he asks, and Amelia’s smile just widens, starts walking down the hallway without a care for who sees them. Arthur follows her after a slight hesitation, but he realizes after a second that he’s concealed in power armor that doesn’t bear his elder insignia, that he’s indistinguishable from any other knight at this point. As long as they don’t have to speak to anyone, they should be fine.

Amelia greats the knight stationed in front of the ladder when they reach it, climbs down it about as gracefully as one can when in power armor, almost stumbling at the bottom. Luckily the power armor accommodates the movement, steadying her on her feet as she watches Arthur climb down after her. They should be in the clear from here, unless Kells is awake for whatever reason. With a quick glance down at the command center, she only sees a couple lancer-sergeants, and she hurriedly steps out onto the flight deck, holding the door open for Arthur.

They just have to get past a few of the deck scribes, one of whom stops her and asks her to state her business.

“Testing out a couple new frames, per Ingram’s orders,” Amelia explains to the lesser scribe, and Arthur wants to comment, to reprimand the soldier for questioning a superior. But he’s incognito at the moment, and he’s sure Amelia’s got this situation underhand.

“At one in the morning?”

Okay, maybe it doesn’t make sense to be testing out the frames when most everyone’s sleeping; Arthur knows that, Amelia knows that. But Amelia responds without a second thought, always with an excuse for everything.

“Beckett, you know I get my best work done late at night.”

This Beckett woman seems to loosen up, and Arthur could laugh at how perfectly fitting Amelia’s excuse is, but he restrains himself, especially when he sees the deck scribe staring at him, trying to gauge his identity through the power armor.

Amelia turns around to approach one of the docking stations, whistles at Arthur when he doesn’t follow immediately. The elder would’ve stumbled if he could, but the armor corrects him, and he jogs after Amelia, the metal clinking all the while.

She’s leaning against the railing, the same one they stood at together on the night of the Prydwen’s launch. It’s been over a year since that night, since their kiss, since the initial decision to give their relationship another go. The year hasn’t been easy, but Arthur would do it all again if it led to him standing here, watching Amelia’s hair billowing in the wind as she smiles at him.

“Ready?” she asks, and before Arthur can ask her what for she’s jumping off the deck. Arthur’s heart skips a beat as he hears her hit the ground, and even though he’s made the same jump before, even though he knows that she’s fine, knows that even a simple power armor frame is enough to protect her from harm, he still looks over the railing worriedly, releasing a deep breath when he sees her waving up at him from the ground, smile still on his face.

Arthur rolls his eyes, a useless gesture, but he waves back before motioning for her to move. She steps back, gives him a wide berth, and Arthur takes a breath before jumping, hitting the ground with a hard _thud_ , only deepening the crater from where others have done the same as them.

Amelia sprints away from him then, running behind one of the ruined buildings before Arthur can even stand up properly. He knows she’s running because she doesn’t want anyone to see them, doesn’t want any of the ground patrollers to come investigate the noise.

By this point, they’ve snuck past patrollers, stolen a couple suits of power armor – okay, technically one, because Amelia has full access to the frames – lied to a deck scribe, and jumped off the Prydwen’s flight deck. Most of those things are grounds for punishment, and – when all combined – grounds for a day or so in the brig, maybe some form of higher punishment.

But it’s Amelia, and Arthur can’t, won’t chastise her, especially when he’s been following her lead, when he’s been right alongside her with barely any hesitation. He laughs a bit at how his elder front just crumbles around her so easily, how she can get him to steal power armor and jump off the Prydwen with just a small smile and pleading eyes.

Arthur runs after her, losing sight of her for a moment before she reappears on the other side of a hollowed out plane, exiting her power armor. Arthur follows, stepping out of his power armor as he stops to catch his breath, legs cramping from exertion.

“Why?” is all he can say, and he’d say it again a million times if Amelia would just keep laughing like she does, vibrant smile spreading her cheeks as she throws her head back to allow the noise to escape. Arthur can’t help it, crossing the space to cup her face, press a hard kiss against her lips, hushing her laughter in the process. It’s a worthy sacrifice for the way her arms wrap around his neck, how she presses herself flush against his body, the warmth of her seeping through his jumpsuit.

She presses harder into the kiss, tongue darting out to taste his and sure, Arthur is definitely down for getting a little hot and heavy around the back of the airport, where it’s dark and quiet and secluded and the odds of someone walking anywhere in their vicinity are low. His hands drop to her waist to push up a bit at her shirt, feeling the sharp point of her hipbones under his hands before he trails a bit higher. Amelia reciprocates, runs her hands to his front to undo the buckle at his neck, pulling down the zipper of his jumpsuit until it rests right below his sternum.

When she moves to kiss his neck, to run her hands through his chest hair, Arthur’s not sure why she brought him all the way out here if this is what she wanted, not when Arthur has a perfectly comfortable bed and guaranteed privacy and protection from the wind that rips around the building, cold on an otherwise warm evening. He’s not going to complain, though, not when Amelia runs her hands under his jumpsuit to push the sleeves off his shoulders, exposing his naked chest to her.

The scribe mouths at his pectoral muscles, biting her way across the collarbone and god, Arthur is content with just having her mouth run across him for the entire night if that’s what she wants. He can’t help but moan when she bites at the joint between his shoulder and neck, and he can _feel_ her smirking against him as her mouth trails up his neck, stopping at his earlobe to nibble on it.

“Let’s go skinny dipping.”

Amelia’s words are breathy, whispered in his ear in a tone that’s so sultry, so suggestive that Arthur can’t help but think it’s a fantastic idea, even if it’s against his better judgment.

“Rads,” is what comes out when he wills himself to think rationally, and it’s such a weak and pathetic attempt. Amelia laughs at the feeble protest before opening one of the pockets of her fatigues, pulling out a small bottle.

“Rad-X,” she counters, dumping two of the pills in Arthur’s hand before pulling a bottle of water out of a pocket and _how much stuff_ can she fit in those fatigues? Arthur just rolls his eyes when she lifts his hand to his mouth, swallowing the pills and mutters something about them not being completely effective.

Amelia just ignores him, but Arthur can’t complain, not when she turns her back to pull her vest over her head, hanging it off her power armor frame. Arthur swallows when her fingers trail to the zipper at the back of her neck, watches how she’s so easily able to slide it down her back, how agile she is to be able to do so without struggling. The elder can’t take his eyes off the expanse of her back, bare and exposed aside from her bra, and she sets the shirt on the power armor too, unbuckling her belt and putting it away as well.

She’s teasing him now, bending over to unlace her boots with her pants unbuttoned. Arthur wants to do something, wants to take the layers off her one by one, but he’s so entranced, so absorbed by the contours and lines of her body, at the way the moonlight paints her like marble, so pale and defined and _perfect_.

When her boots are unlaced, she kicks them off, her socks staying in them, digging her toes into the mud. It’s a little cold, but she’s so excited that she barely feels it. She turns to look at Arthur when she’s clad in just her undergarments, frowning a bit when she sees that he’s still wearing his jumpsuit, albeit halfway.

“Hurry up,” she says, and even though Amelia’s seen him naked before Arthur feels a little self-conscious, turning his back to her so he can unlace his own boots, drape the jumpsuit over the stolen power armor set. As he’s making sure his clothes won’t fall into the mud, he hears a splash behind him, and when he turns, Amelia’s already in the water, standing just deep enough that he can only see the tops of her breasts. His breath hitches, and he goes to follow her into the water, stopped only by Amelia’s voice.

“Take your briefs off!” she shouts him, a short giggle following her words. Arthur can’t help but blush, doing as he’s told but covering himself as he wades in after her, the cold settling into his bones. He removes his shielding hand once he’s deep enough for the water to conceal it.

Amelia moves before he can get to her, submerging her body in the water as she kicks her feet, pulls herself through the water. Swimming’s been one of her favorite things since she was a kid, since she first learned how back in Rivet City. Of course, the water there is pure, less likely to make her sick than the irradiated sea she swims through now. It’s a problem she doesn’t worry about, not when the Brotherhood’s heavily stocked up on radiation remedies.

She pulls herself to the surface when she runs out of air, nearly twenty yards from where Arthur stands, water rising to the bottom of his ribcage as he watches her in fascination. They’ve been swimming before, sure, back when they were kids, when they would steal old t-shirts from the laundry room to take a dip in. But Arthur’s never swam naked before, and so far he’s not sure if he likes it.

“You coming in?”

Arthur doesn’t really want to, no, but even with the distance between them he can’t say no to the way she looks at him, and he sighs as he starts walking deeper, swimming lazily over to where Amelia’s treading water. The scribe smiles at him, reaches out to run a hand over his beard, thumb tracing his most prominent scar before it pulls at his bottom lip.

She pulls her hand back when Arthur leans forward to try to kiss her; he’s met with a splash to the face instead of the warmth of her lips, opening his eyes to see Amelia smiling at him from where she’s already swam a few feet away.

“Fuckin’ rude,” Arthur almost growls at her, pulling his arm back before sending it forward, barreling the water so it surges at the smaller woman.

Amelia laughs as he splashes her, returning the action until Arthur’s hair is soaked, otherwise orderly strands plastered to his forehead. The scribe can’t help but notice how _young_ Arthur looks right now, how the smile on his face and the black hair falling into his eyes age him appropriately, how for once he looks _twenty_. It’s easy to forget that Arthur’s not even a year older than her when he’s always scowling, when wrinkles have already started creasing into his features. She wishes that she could ease his burden, but she supposes that’s what nights like tonight are for.

When she tires of the splash fight, she submerges herself underwater, swimming around behind Arthur in an attempt to surprise him. It works – when Amelia grabs his ankle underwater she can hear him scream, loud even through the haze of the sea. She emerges when she’s unable to contain her laughter, willing air back into her lungs from where she’s swallowed a bit of the seawater.

Arthur pouts at her, and Amelia can’t help but laugh again, silenced only when Arthur swims to her, presses down on her shoulders to dunk her underneath.

She emerges gasping for air, choking on the water that rushed into her mouth, and Arthur’s worried that he went too far until she’s doing the same to him, salt from the ocean acidic in his throat as he struggles to breathe momentarily.

He bobs up gasping for air, chases after Amelia when she tries to swim towards the shore, and he’s laughing, smile on his face as she squeals in an attempt to distance herself from him. Amelia’s the faster swimmer, but Arthur’s got longer strokes, and it’s easy for him to close the distance, arm winding around her stomach to pull her against his chest, steadying his feet on the sand, water still up to his collarbones.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Arthur whispers into her ear, and his hot breath on her cold neck sends a chill down her spine. The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and Arthur trails his hand down the planes of her stomach to reach the thatch of hair just below, loving the way Amelia shivers against him when he stops.

“I wasn’t trying to be nice,” she smirks in return, her voice a little breathy as Arthur’s fingers comb ever so slightly through the hair, diving a little deeper to tease her.

The water stops the action from being too pleasurable, and Amelia’s more aroused by the way Arthur’s hard against her backside than the touch at her front. As much as fooling around in the water sounds _awesome_ , she is getting a little cold, and when she tells Arthur that he just wraps his arm back around her stomach, drags her up towards the shore.

When they’re on solid ground, the water lapping against their calves, Amelia stands back to look at Arthur, at the solid expanse of muscle that stands before her. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever tire of looking at him; every time she notices something different, from a new freckle to an old scar, noticing now his wet chest hair, how the moisture just makes the hair look more prominent against his wet skin. Then there’s his dick, pointed towards her, and Amelia wants to get on her knees here in the water, wants to taste the salt on his skin, wants to try sucking him off because they’ve never done that before.

But the water’s still cold, and the last thing they need to do is catch hypothermia, and it’s with a teasing trail of her hand down his chest, stopping just at the base his dick that Amelia presses herself against him, stretching onto her toes to whisper in his ear.

“Let’s go inside,” she whispers, and it’s almost comical how deflated Arthur gets.

“Why not here?”

She giggles a bit at his question, wraps a hand around his dick to give it a quick squeeze.

“Too cold,” she mutters, lips pressing against his chest before her tongue darts out to flick over his nipple.

When Arthur moans, it’s soft and needy and Amelia pulls herself away, smirking up at his closed eyes. The elder opens them when the heat from her hand is gone, and he almost whines, desperation coursing through him as he reaches out to grab at her. She dodges his hand through, giggling as she hastily pulls back on her uniform, forgoing the vest and storing it away in one of the frame’s compartments.

Arthur’s slow to follow, mind hazy as he pulls the jumpsuit over his damp skin, and it’s harder than he imagined, the tight fabric sticking to his skin. Amelia’s already back in her power armor before the elder can even zip up his suit, and he forgoes the buckle at the top, knowing it’ll just be coming off later.

She darts away in the frame before he can close the suit around him, yelling “race you back!” over her shoulder as Arthur struggles to catch up.

That woman will be the death of him, he swears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia's a tease and so am I.


	13. Love's The Loveliest Thing

The vault dweller ends up being a greater addition to the Brotherhood than any of them imagined. Nora’s full of pre-war knowledge, having been a lawyer before the war, and when she brings in her power armor to make repairs, Amelia finds that they have a lot in common; the older woman was a philosophy major in college so she’s more than well-versed in literature, Amelia’s favorite subject.

The scribe and knight become close friends, Nora taking the younger woman under her wing to teach her about Dickens, about Russell and Plato and other great philosophers and authors, and even though it’s hard to remember everything without the works in front of her, Nora thinks she does a good job explaining the general concepts to the younger woman. The older woman even indulges in her love of history, telling of old court cases that influenced the old country, of wars that tore the world apart, of mass hysteria and fear tactics, the multiple times the world almost came to destruction, and the one time it did.

Spending time with Nora means Amelia gets to spend more time with Danse, notices more and more how the paladin looks at Nora, the way he devotes all of his attention to her when she speaks, how he smiles a little brighter and laughs a little more when around the vault dweller. Amelia wants to tell him to go for it, but Danse is nothing if not decorous, too respectful of his position to ever initiate anything between the two of them. She’s pretty sure Nora would go for it, if he ever offered, if the way she smiles at the paladin is anything to go by. 

Maybe another day when Amelia’s not so stressed out, she’ll play matchmaker. But for now, she’s got a lot on her plate, with the construction of the molecular relay for Nora, in addition to finalizing the plans for Liberty Prime, Ingram needing her help with both of those projects since they lost one of their better engineers to a gang of Gunners down near Quincy. The Commonwealth has been nothing if not unforgiving to the Brotherhood, and Arthur’s been encouraging field soldiers to recruit more, hoping that they’ll be able to increase their numbers before the inevitable war with the Institute.

Amelia works hard, as usual, doing all the things Ingram can’t with her limited mobility, moving between the Prydwen and the airport so the proctor doesn’t tire herself out, using her dexterity to fine-tune the little things. It’s exhausting, lugging all of her equipment around the airport, but it pays off; after a month the relay is completed, and Amelia stands between Arthur and Ingram as they watch Knight Jones disappear in a white flash of light.

There’s nothing they can do then, and when the evening rolls around on that cold day in January, Amelia sits next to Danse in the mess deck, attempting to comfort the frowning paladin. It doesn’t work, the older man too worried about his charge to do more than push the food on his plate around. Amelia tries to make conversation, but Danse remains silent, stoic, and when she’s finished with her meal she pulls him into a hug, reminds him that Nora’s tough, that she’s going to make it back in one piece, she’s certain of it.

Sure enough, the next morning Nora appears on the flight deck of the Prydwen in a flash of light, red-eyed and rigid. The vault dweller seeks out Danse immediately, collapsing into the paladin’s arms as the rest of the Brotherhood watches. Arthur shoos them all away, tells Danse to take the woman to Cade, to make sure she gets rest for the day. Amelia follows the two soldiers, but is forbidden entry from Cade’s office, so she retreats to Arthur’s quarters where he sits typing on his terminal.

There’s not a lot they can do except wait, and it’s nearly a week later, after Nora’s turned in her mission report, after an old woman named Madison Li joins back up with the Brotherhood, that Arthur directs construction of Liberty Prime to commence. Amelia tries to talk to Nora, but the woman’s constantly out on assignment, gathering various parts for the robot around the Commonwealth with Danse. There’s so much Amelia wants to ask about the Institute, but she withholds, focusing her time on making Liberty Prime functional. She could ask Doctor Li, but the woman’s very stoic. Amelia knows a couple ways to get the woman talking, but she doesn’t want to jeopardize her standing in the Brotherhood just to satisfy a bit of curiosity.

Arthur joins her on the forecastle a few nights after Nora’s first trip to the Institute, and they talk about Knight Jones’s report, about how frightening the place sounds, and Amelia knows that she needs to tell Arthur the truth about her past before it’s too late, before the holotape retrieved by Nora reveals too much, before Doctor Li takes too close of a look at Amelia and puts together the pieces.

It takes her a while to work up the courage, and it’s only when they’ve drained the small bottle of whiskey between them that Amelia’s ready to talk about it, leaning further back into Arthur’s chest as his arms wind tighter around her.

“The Commonwealth looks so beautiful at this time of night,” Amelia sighs after she drinks the last bit of the whiskey. It’s just after sundown, settlement lights and fires illuminating the sides of old skyscrapers. “Boston is so well preserved compared to D.C., kind of makes you wonder what it looked like before all the destruction.”

“Wonder what it’d look like if the bombs didn’t fall. Hell, I wonder how the world would look. Doubt I’d be here, though. Probably wouldn’t have met you,” Arthur responds, nudging his nose against the back of her neck on the last part, pressing a small kiss there.

Amelia sighs at the affection, turns her head around to press a small kiss against his lips before settling back against his chest. She knows a little about how a preserved world would look, how humanity could’ve advanced if they only had been allowed to. Arthur doesn’t know that, though, and after five years of hiding the truth from him it’s probably time for Amelia to tell Arthur where she’s from. 

“I never told you where I grew up, did I?” She knows she hasn’t, but she frames it as a question in hopes of coming off more casually.

“Rivet City, right? That’s what you told me when we first met,” Arthur responds, raising an eyebrow at the change in conversation but letting Amelia say what she needs to.

The scribe nods, taking a deep breath before speaking again.

“Yes, but also no. When I joined the Brotherhood, it was after living in Rivet City. But I didn’t grow up there. I grew up, well, I grew up here.” 

“In the Commonwealth?”

Arthur’s arms tighten a little around her as his voice rises in surprise. Amelia nods again, bites her lip before turning around in Arthur’s lap, wanting to face him when she tells him the truth.

“Again, sort of,” she says slowly. She wants to tell Arthur the truth, she really does, but with his attitude as of late, it could make or break their relationship, and Amelia doesn’t know what she’ll do if he leaves her. Not stay in the Brotherhood, probably, at least not the east coast chapter. Arthur laces his hands with hers after a moment, kisses her softly to encourage her to continue.

“My parents… they were scientists. My mom was an engineer, my dad was a biologist,” Amelia decides to start there. The elder looks at her quizzically; he’s never heard of people occupying those positions outside of the Brotherhood, didn’t even know they still existed.

“What exactly did they do?” is what he asks, keeping the question easy.

“They,” she starts, pausing to breathe as she wills herself to calm down. “They were born, _I_ was born, in the Institute.”

It’s out there now, and Amelia can’t take it back; she wishes she could, when Arthur pulls his arms away, frowning down at her as he leans back, dropping her off his lap with a shocked on his face. 

“What do you mean? Are you – how did you - _what?_ ”

Amelia reaches out to rest a hand on his arm, flinches when Arthur jolts away from her touch. Rejection surges through her body, pushes its way up into her eyes where she subdues the tears; she needs to be strong for this, can’t explain herself if she’s a sniveling mess.

“My parents, my whole family was born in the Institute. I’m – well, long descended from the pre-war CIT students who constructed it. That’s probably why mechanics and stuff is so natural to me, I guess. But, yeah, the population there is small and secluded, like how it is in Lost Hills, you know? And so the unions down there are arranged – people marry to reproduce, ensure diversity in the gene pool for another generation or whatever. My parents, they were from different, castes, I guess? Anyway, they weren’t supposed to be together, but they fell in love, and when my mom got pregnant the director allowed them to marry, but he wasn’t happy about it. The man, _Father_ , I think they called him, he sort of had it out for them, then, giving my parents shitty jobs and pretty much making their lives a living hell.

“And then, when I was born, the kids wouldn’t play with me and I got made fun of in school for being essentially a bastard child. When I was around eight or nine I think, my dad was helping to modify something for the synths, brain chemistry or something, and I don’t remember a lot of it, but I know he wasn’t really happy with the way the Institute was treating the synths, or how they treated us for that matter. So he got kind of fed up, you know? And then when I was ten, my parents decided to leave. It was pretty unheard of for people to leave the Institute, especially ones who had ties to the pre-war CIT, but no one really tried to stop us. Actually, they did everything to get us to leave except pack our bags, pretty much. Doc – Doctor Li, she was the one who helped us out, pointed us to Rivet City, where to stop along the way for supplies and stuff. We ended up in Quincy, just south of here. I don’t remember a lot of it now, but I know we pretty much caravan-hopped all the way to D.C., shacked it up in Rivet City until I ran away.”

“I thought your parents were dead?” Arthur asks when she finishes, anger and hurt present in the bite of his words. “Or was that a lie, too?”

There’s an ache in Amelia’s heart when he brings up her parents, when he accuses her of lying about something like that.

“I haven’t lied to you about any of this, Arthur. I didn’t tell you when we met because it wasn’t important then, and I didn’t tell you when you decided to bring us to the Commonwealth because I didn’t want it to drive a wedge between us. But I’m telling you now, okay? And yes, my parents are dead. I might have been born in the Institute, but I’m not manipulative or evil or any of those things that you’re feeding to the rest of the soldiers, okay? I can’t help where I was born.”

She’s crying now, the memories of her parents’ death coming back all too clear. The heartache is made worse by the fact that Arthur now thinks that she’s some sort of monster even though she can’t really remember the Institute. She just remembers cleanliness, white walls and purified water, being teased and pushed around, remembers her mom patching up her scrapes and bruises with disinfectant, infection not being an issue in the underground facility.

Arthur sits a few feet away, watches Amelia cry into her hands. He wants to comfort her, wants to dry her tears and kiss her and help her forget about whatever’s hurting her. But it’s so much to process – he feels almost betrayed that she didn’t tell him this information sooner, that she didn’t bring this up when he declared war on the Institute, on her former home. She could’ve helped them plan – or maybe she doesn’t want to? Maybe she wants to protect her homestead, doesn’t want the Brotherhood to destroy it because she’s got other ties?

“Please, Arthur, say something,” Amelia begs when she’s wiped the tears from her eyes, and Arthur realizes that he’s just been staring rigidly at her for the past few minutes.

“I, I don’t…” he trails off, and he needs to figure out how he’s going to deal with situation, fast.

“I don’t have any like, sentiment towards the Institute, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was too young to really remember it. What I know is from the stories my parents told me. I don’t know where it is, don’t know how to get there. It’s not something I like to talk about, and it’s not something I thought would go over well with you. I’m, so, so so so sorry. It – it wasn’t my intention to deceive you, Arthur, please believe that.”

The elder believes her. It may be foolish, and if it was anyone else he probably would have thrown them off the ship, had their names removed from the Codex and labeled them a traitor. But it’s Amelia, the love of his life, and she wouldn’t have stuck around this long if she was a spy, wouldn’t have done all the things she’s done if she didn’t actually have feelings for him.

She’s never actually said _those three words_ to Arthur, but he knows how special they are to her, how protective she is of herself. He knows that she loves him though, can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her heart races when he kisses her, in the trust she gives him when they’re intimate. And he loves her, oh god does he love her, and even though he feels a little deflated by her confession, it doesn’t change that, not one bit.

He’s spent the past year trying to convince her that he loves her, that she’s the best thing in his world. This, this is the make it or break it moment, and if he screws up what he says he knows Amelia won’t forgive him, that it’ll just hinder their relationship even more, and if he says the wrong thing he won’t be able to take it back.

“I’m – I feel – not betrayed, per se, but shocked, definitely. I would have never imagined that you were from the Institute, but it does explain a few things, I suppose,” Arthur starts, hands laced together in his lap, index fingers pressing together as he looks down. “I don’t want to say that I’m not upset, Amelia, because I am, but not at you. I’m just upset with – with the situation. Because if anyone else had omitted such information I would have them exiled, more than likely. Doctor Li, she’s different, because we know where she came from and she’s here because she’s been an asset to the Brotherhood in the past. But you’ve been hiding this from me, from the Brotherhood, when it’s information that we really should have known.”

“I’ve never actually been asked where I was born – I was asked where I came from when I signed up, and I told them Rivet City and that wasn’t a lie,” Amelia snaps back, her sadness giving way to irritation.

Arthur looks up at her, at the way her eyebrows are knitted together as she glowers at him. It’s almost comical, how Amelia is scowling at him when he’s usually the one frowning, and he would laugh if it wouldn’t just set things even more off balance.

He scoots a bit closer to Amelia, reaches out to rest his hand on top of her balled fist in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. She doesn’t flinch away, and Arthur rubs his thumb across her knuckles before continuing.

“We can’t change the past, Amelia. But I need you to promise me that there’s nothing tying you to the Institute – no distant relatives or old friends or anyone who would pull you away from the Brotherhood.” _From him._

“Absolutely not. I don’t remember having any family in there besides my parents, and even if I did, I doubt they’d want anything to do with me. I’m Brotherhood, through and through,” Amelia promises. Maybe the last bit is a slight stretch of the truth – she’s never really been one for the Brotherhood’s sort of fascist ideals, never gave in to Arthur’s rhetoric or believed in the whole _bound by steel_ thing. She joined the Brotherhood for protection, stayed for the experience, the education, the opportunity. Stayed for Arthur, for her friends.

Amelia laces her fingers with Arthur’s then, willing him to believe, to forgive her. And he does, smiling as he gives her fingers a squeeze, as he leans and kisses her ever so softly. A small press of lips as forgiveness.

She relaxes into the kiss, pulling Arthur towards her so she can sit sideways in his lap, curl her hands in the lapels of his coat as she presses a little harder, loving the way Arthur’s hand runs through her hair, how he still touches her like she’s precious even though she feels so tainted.

After a moment she retreats, laying her head on Arthur’s shoulder, hand pressed underneath his coat to feel the gentle thrumming of his heartbeat. She’s so happy that he took it well, that Arthur understood why she initially withheld the information, that he didn’t dump her in the gutter for having the misfortune of being born into an immoral institution.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did your parents die?” Arthur inquires after a few minutes of silence, and he regrets it immediately when Amelia’s breath hitches, body growing rigid. “You – you don’t have to tell me. Forget I said anything, actually.”

Amelia relaxes a bit at his hesitance, leans back with a sad smile.

“No – it’s okay. I’ve never given you a full answer, and you deserve to know,” Amelia answers, and she flexes her fingers before beginning.

“My dad, he was pretty messed up when we got to D.C. He’d never been outside the Institute, didn’t realize the world was so destroyed. Didn’t fare well against the mutated creatures, all of that. He developed a little dependency on Med-X after he got stung by a radscorp, and my mom tried to wean him off of it, but there’re just so many chem dealers in the Capital Wasteland that she couldn’t stop him from getting more each time she threw the drugs away. 

“He was addicted for a long while - let’s see, it took us about half a year to get to Rivet City, ‘cause we had to wait for caravans and stuff between cities, so he probably started using when I was just about eleven, maybe? Got himself into some deep debt over the next three years – none of the, well, _respectable_ chem dealers would trade with him after a certain point, so he ended up going into debt with some raider types, and when he couldn’t pay up, they took my mom as payment, said they’d kill her if he didn’t come up with the money within however long of a time – maybe a month? I don’t know.”

Amelia’s shaking a bit now, haunted by the memories of her mom’s screams as the raiders snatched her. She had been swimming just outside the city then, her mom doing some stitching by the river when they took her. There was so much screaming, so much agony, but Amelia heard the raiders mention her, that they would come back for Amelia if her dad didn’t pay up. She wishes she was braver, that she would’ve sacrificed herself for her mom, but it’s likely that the raiders would’ve just taken them both, and she would’ve just ended up dead, too.

“I worked so much during that time, doing every little thing in Rivet City in hopes of scrounging up the thousand or so caps that my dad owed while he sat in his room drugged up and depressed. And when I didn’t get the money, they killed her, right in front of my dad and I. And my dad – he started fighting back, pulled a switchblade out of his boot and stabbed a couple of them before they could get a shot on him. And the last thing I remember him saying before they killed him was ‘run,’ and I did. I ran for so long, for almost two days until I ended up at the Citadel, until Danse found me and well, you know the rest.”

Arthur tightens his arms around Amelia when she finishes, wipes away a few of her tears with a tender brush of his thumb. He kisses her, on her cheeks, her forehead, her jaw, her lips, trying to comfort her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” he whispers, nudging the tip of his nose against her cheekbone. “You’re safe now, though, here, with me.”

“I know. I – thank you. For listening, for being so understanding. I know it isn’t easy and-”

Arthur stops her rambling with a kiss, happy with the way Amelia smiles into the embrace. 

“I love you,” he tells her, thumbs rubbing over Amelia’s hipbones beneath her shirt, aware of how it relaxes her. “I love you more than anything.”

“I – I love you, too.”

Arthur’s heart soars at those words – he’s wanted to hear them from her for so long, and now that she’s said them it’s like everything’s fallen into place. It doesn’t matter where Amelia came from; all that matters is the way she smiles bashfully at him, red tinting her cheeks as he kisses her with everything he can muster. There are tears teasing at his eyes, and his smile pulls at the scars on his face as he kisses her over and over, wanting to commit this moment to memory.

“Say it again,” he whispers against her lips, and Amelia blushes as he trails his hands up her body to cup her cheeks, pulling away just enough to watch her eyes flutter shut as she fists her hands into his coat again.

“I love you, Arthur.”

In that moment, everything is perfect. Amelia loves him. That’s all he’s ever hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hopeful about this chapter. I hope it didn't seem like I just sort of thrust the Institute thing in there, I was trying to keep Amelia's background vague until now but maybe I just neglected it too much. Idk.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always.


	14. Live This Nightmare

Arthur leaves Amelia’s confession off the record; despite her being able to dissuade him easily, he’s not sure if the rest of the Brotherhood will be able to brush off the fact that Amelia has ties to the enemy, that one of their most respected soldiers isn’t quite who they thought she was. Amelia trusts him, though, and without the risk of Arthur finding out through a third party she’s open about it with Haylen, with Nora, but not Danse, not with his fervent hatred for the Institute and their synths. Haylen is understanding, of course, and Nora informs her that the man who made her parents’ lives miserable was none other than the vault dweller’s son, and that – that’s a little weird to think about. Amelia’s smart enough to separate Nora’s actions from that of her son’s, and the vault dweller even expresses disdain at her son’s actions, adamant that he must be stopped, that the Institute must be stopped.

The senior scribe is on the ground one day a few weeks after that night with Arthur, working with Ingram and Doctor Li on the finishing touches for Liberty Prime. The proctor assigns Nora and Danse to sweep the Glowing Sea for bombs for the robot’s arsenal, setting aside a week or so for their journey. They’re set to leave in a few days, are to use the time to rest, train, gather supplies for a certainly perilous journey.

With Liberty Prime just lacking the nukes and an energy source, there’s not much more that the engineers can do, and Amelia starts her trek up to the Prydwen once Ingram calls it a day, falling in step with to Doctor Li as the woman walks next to her. She looks at the doctor, at her tired eyes and worn features, and places a hand on the woman’s arm, stopping her gently with the touch.

“Doctor Li, can I have a moment?” she asks, and the woman sighs before looking at Amelia.

“I suppose. What is it?” the doctor asks, and Amelia looks at the soldiers around them, noticing how many are within ear shot, and she nods her head towards one of the empty loading bays.

“In private?”

Doctor Li huffs again, gesturing for Amelia to lead with impatience. The scribe walks until they’re alone, and she double checks their surroundings before speaking.

“I, I’m not really sure how to bring this up, so I’m just going to cut to the chase. You know me as Senior Scribe Dirthe, but my first name is Amelia – Amelia Dirthe, and I don’t know if that means anything to you or if-”

“Like Elizabeth and Joseph Dirthe?” Madison interrupts, scowl giving way to wide eyes and intrigue.

“I – yeah. They were my parents.”

“Oh goodness,” Doctor Li starts, analyzing the young woman but smiling enthusiastically after a moment. “You were so _little_ then. You still are, I suppose. I remember you had blonde hair, like your dad. Your mom would bring you into the lab when you were really young, and you’d run around the testing range laughing and smiling and… things were so different. I should’ve recognized the surname, but it’s been so long, and I thought maybe it was just a coincidence…”

Doctor Li rambles on, trailing off after a moment as she looks over Amelia’s features, reaches out to touch her cheek, a mother’s touch.

“You look so much like your mother.”

Tears spring to Amelia’s eyes then, and she takes a deep, shuddering breath when Doctor Li pulls her hand back. The doctor smiles at her, resting a soft hand on the younger woman’s shoulder as she blinks back the tears.

“Your parents… are they…”

“Dead, yes,” Amelia whispers, eyes flicking up at the woman after a moment.

“I’m so sorry. They were exceptional people, truly. They’d be very proud of you, especially your mother.”

All Amelia’s ever wanted is to make her mom proud, and Doctor Li’s affirmation makes her heart swell in her chest, a tear escaping her eyes. The typically stoic doctor wraps an arm around the scribe’s shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug as Amelia cries softly. It’s nice, to have someone who remembers her parents, to have a friendly tie to her past.

“How did you end up in the Brotherhood, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s not that big of a journey from Rivet City to the Citadel, but – did they recruit you?”

Amelia shakes her head once her tears are dried, stepping back to compose herself before she answers the doctor’s questions, telling the woman of the raiders who killed her parents, of how Elder Lyons sheltered her and offered her a position in the Brotherhood, how she joined after talking to Arthur.

Li smiles at the way Amelia’s eyes light up when she speaks of Arthur, how she forgoes his title in favor of addressing him by his name. The doctor is nothing if not perceptive, notices the fervor in her eyes when she speaks of her rise in the ranks, and the doctor is glad to see someone so young and full of happiness despite the unforgiving wasteland.

“I’m glad that you found your place here, Amelia,” the doctor says when she finishes, resting her hand on Amelia’s shoulder again “I hope that the Brotherhood continues to serve you well.”

They end the conversation then, walking back to board the vertibird, to head back to the Prydwen. They cross the command deck together, Li noticing the way Arthur and Amelia smile at each other as they pass, the elder trying to be subtle but failing.

The doctor smiles at the spring in Amelia’s step, the blush on the young woman’s face. It’s nice to see love persevering in such a forsaken world.

 

\------

 

With the Liberty Prime project on hold, Amelia spends her work hours helping Quinlan, Haylen, and a few other lesser scribes extract data from Nora’s Institute holotape. As second highest rank in the group, Amelia gets to sort the data before presenting it to Quinlan, determining the importance of documents – what gets presented immediately, what gets held onto, and what gets archived to be read later.

They’re sorting through data from the Synth Retention Bureau when Haylen gasps, the other soldiers looking up at her as she clamps a hand over her mouth, shock on her face. Haylen makes eye contact with Amelia only, the senior scribe raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the woman’s outburst. The field scribe composes herself, waits until all the eyes have turned away from her to beckon Amelia over, gesturing to an open page on her terminal.

Amelia squats down beside Haylen’s chair to read it, recognizing the file as one documenting data on an escaped synth. She reads over the data, looking for what made Haylen gasp. It all seems pretty standard, comparable to the other hundred or so they’ve gone through – the synth designated as M7-97, detailing a six-foot-three male with black hair, blood type O-, job designated as a weapons tester in the Advanced Systems division, missing as of 2276, and some more information detailing his DNA sequence and what not. She mentally notes that it’s probably a synth that she’s seen before, seeing as her mother helped engineer weaponry in that division. Amelia lacks to see any information of interest until she reaches the picture at the bottom, sees a face that she knows well, can recognize in an instant despite the different haircut and lack of facial hair.

Her head spins as she processes the information, grabbing ahold of Haylen’s shoulder to pull the woman into the hallway outside Quinlan’s office.

“Is that…?” Amelia trails off, not sure where to begin. Haylen bites her lip, discomfort on her features as she nods slowly.

“I didn’t want to believe it. I mean – it doesn’t make any sense, right? But I cross-checked the genetics data with Danse's file and yeah. It’s him.”

Amelia’s unsteady on her feet, slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the ground, hands in her head.

“What do we do?” Haylen asks, and Amelia doesn’t know. They can’t hide it – each file must be viewed by two different scribes before being handed to Amelia then Quinlan, so someone else is going to notice. Someone that isn’t as forgiving as they are.

“Danse and Nora are leaving in the morning to find the mark-28’s. You’re supposed to be at Echo the day after, right? Maybe you can hop on a vertibird tonight and get out there before they head into the Glowing Sea? I’ll cover you if Quinlan asks where you are, and that way you’ll be able to warn Danse, so he can get as far away as possible before Arthur finds out.” Amelia’s shaking, willing herself to see through the fog in her mind. What they’re discussing, it’s treason – aiding the enemy, harboring a fugitive – but Amelia knows what will happen as soon as Arthur learns the truth.

“Would you be willing to risk that? I – I don't know what Arthur would do to us – to you, especially – if he finds out we helped him escape.” Haylen’s quivering now too, the two of them a sight for sore eyes, curled up on the floor of the Prydwen with their heads pulled together, speaking in hushed tones.

Amelia didn’t really think about the consequences, how Arthur would react to her going behind his back, but this is _Danse_ , the man who brought her to the Brotherhood, who saved her life, her _best friend_. If this is the final breaking point for her and Arthur, then so be it. She can’t in her right mind sit back and let Arthur kill him.

“I’m one-hundred percent certain. I’ll take whatever he throws at me. It won’t fall back on you.”

The senior scribe stands then, pulling Haylen to her feet as they compose themselves, smoothing down their vests, standing tall while they reenter the room.

Amelia clears her throat, draws the attention of the two scribes still active on their terminals. She tells them to divert their attention to the robotics division, that Haylen discovered something particularly disturbing concerning synth production and she wants all of the worthy information compiled on her desk by dinner time. It’s a simple enough request, should buy them enough time for Haylen to get to the waypoint without raising suspicions.

Right now, it’s just them against the clock.

 

\------

 

Getting Haylen out to Waypoint Echo ends up being a little easier than they imagined. The only issue they run into is with the lancer piloting the vertibird. He is already heading out to the outpost this evening to deliver supplies, so please, won’t he take Haylen with him? The lancer is apprehensive, tells the two scribes that he can’t authorize transport of a soldier without approval from Kells. Amelia pulls out the full stops then, flirting with the lancer as she pleads with him to take Haylen, tells him that the field scribe is claustrophobic, that being aboard the Prydwen too long makes her anxious – won’t he help her out? It's an emergency, she'll inform Kells herself, she promises.

The lancer gives in when Amelia trails a hand down his chest, looking up at the young boy through her eyelashes. He can’t be much older than the senior scribe, and she smiles, reaching up on her tip toes to kiss his cheek in thanks. The young soldier blushes, tells Haylen that he’ll be ready to depart in ten minutes as returns to his vertibird, stealing one last bashful glance at Amelia before situating himself in the cockpit.

The field scribe turns to Amelia with wide eyes, pulls her down the walkway where the lancer can’t see them.

“What was _that?_ ” she asks, Amelia smiling in return as she shrugs.

“I may have picked up a few things in the past few months. Soldier boys are easy to persuade if you know how.”

The younger woman just smirks at Haylen when she raises an eyebrow, and Haylen laughs before shoving a bit at Amelia’s shoulder.

“So you’ve got the elder wrapped around your finger then, huh? How’s it feel to be bedding a _Maxson_? Bet every girl aboard would kill to be you.”

Amelia’s happy for the idle banter, smirk lightening into a shy smile.

“I mean, we haven’t – you know…” Amelia trails off, but of course Haylen knows what she means.

“Really?”

“Really. I mean – we’ve done, uh, _other_ things, but no, we haven’t um… gone _all the way_ yet, I guess.”

The conversation seems very reminiscent of the old world romance novels she’s read, and she can feel her cheeks warming as she gossips.

“Is he good, though? I bet Maxson would be fantastic in bed.”

“ _Haylen!_ ”

The older woman just laughs and laughs, getting enjoyment from Amelia’s flushed face, from the way her eyes dart around the flight deck to make sure no one’s listening. It’s not that she’s embarrassed necessarily by Haylen’s words – Amelia’s an open book, after all – but it’s more that she doesn’t want the rest of the crew to find out that she and their elder are going at it, at least not through hearsay. Maybe one day Arthur will officially claim her as his partner, but until then she’s not comfortable telling anyone about their relationship besides Danse and Haylen.

The lancer hollers at Haylen, and Amelia slips the field scribe the printed file containing Danse’s information as she hugs the woman goodbye, whispering a soft _good luck_ into her ear before they part.

The lightheartedness from the moments before dissipates, because now they’re on a mission, and the life of their best friend hangs in their hands.

 

\------

 

Amelia holds onto the information for as long as she can, waits until the scribes are completely finished with the robotics information before she allows them back into the synth retention data. It takes them a good few days to compile _everything_ from the robotics division, so by the time they start looking into escaped synths again she’s sure that Danse and Nora are deep into the Glowing Sea. Hopefully Haylen was able to warn Danse before he left, but she doubts that he would abandon Nora in the Glowing Sea, life-changing revelation or no. She’s not even sure if Danse is the fleeing type – he might just surrender, allow himself to be killed in honor of the Brotherhood’s code. But god, she hopes that maybe, just maybe, he has some sort of self-interest outside of the Brotherhood.

She brings the data to Quinlan four days after Haylen’s departure, feigning shock as she presents Danse’s file. The proctor’s reaction is immediate, and he snatches the folder from her before stomping down to the command deck. Amelia follows behind warily, keeping her distance. She stands just inside the doorframe when Quinlan presents the folder to Arthur, hates the way that the elder flares with anger, how he booms out orders for the immediate retrieval of both Danse and Nora, neither of whom are to be trusted for the time being. Kells approaches to inform him that the distress pulser has been activated, and that there are soldiers in pursuit of their location.

Arthur dictates to the soldiers around him that the Brotherhood will not tolerate this type of betrayal, that the Institute has obviously been spying on them. The forces are to rally together to find the traitor, and they will stop at nothing until _it_ is found and destroyed.

There’s nothing they can do but wait once Kells relays the information to the ground patrols, informing everyone of Danse’s status as a synth, of Nora’s possible abetting, how the synth is to be shot on sight and the knight returned to the Prydwen for questioning. It’s worse than Amelia imagined – Arthur doesn’t even take a moment to consider Danse’s role in all of this. His file said he was an escaped synth, that he escaped more than a decade ago, and it’s likely that Danse either has no idea of his status, or that he’s long put the Institute behind him, much like Amelia has.

She turns to leave when Arthur dismisses Quinlan and Kells, stopped in her tracks when Arthur’s voice growls at her.

“Senior Scribe Dirthe, a word.”

Amelia nods at the proctor when he passes, takes a deep breath before she turns to face Arthur. He’s seething, she can tell, and she doesn’t really want to be around him when he’s angry like this, but she can’t very well walk away when he’s created such a scene.

“Did you know?” he bites, anger wrapping its way around each word as he glares at her.

“Not until I saw the file, no. I brought it to Quinlan immediately once I cross-checked it with our records,” she responds, trying to keep her tone calm, to maintain eye contact when Arthur stares at her so unnervingly. She hopes that he doesn’t see through her, that he trusts her enough after everything to believe her. Maybe after this she won’t be worthy of his trust anymore, but she hopes that she can hold onto it for as long as possible.

Arthur takes her at her word, perhaps naively so, and he visibly relaxes just a bit. He’s still angry, that’s for certain, but the anger is directed more towards the situation that towards Amelia herself.

A _synth_ in their ranks. A spy, an infiltrator, one of his best and most trusted soldiers. Trusted with Arthur’s personal secrets, with the elder’s plans and ideas even before they were brought before the council. Has Danse been a spy this whole time, or was he replaced once his team arrived in the Commonwealth? Has the traitor been relaying their every move, every thought or confession transmitted back to the underground facility? Whatever the case may be, Danse - _it_ \- needs to die.

“Dismissed, Dirthe,” Arthur says when he realizes he’s just been staring at Amelia. He goes to tell her to meet him in his quarters for dinner that night, but before the words can roll off his tongue she’s already ascended the ladder, and he sighs, clenching his fists as he turns to stare out the windows on the deck.

 

\------

 

When Nora reports back to Waypoint Echo just under three hours later, she’s immediately placed under watch, escorted onto the earliest possible vertibird en route to the Prydwen. Haylen hops on it as well, shaking her head nervously at the vault dweller as she looks to the scribe for an explanation.

Nora’s brought before Arthur immediately, two knights standing watch outside his door instead of the usual one. He nearly yells at the woman, demanding the truth out of her. The few hours that passed have not helped dispel his anger, and he narrows his eyes at the woman when she tells him that she was previously unaware of Danse’s status as a synth.

The elder believes her, if not because of his trust in Nora then because of the synth’s skillful manipulation, withholding his true nature even from the woman he spends all of his time with. There are still patrols sweeping the west in search of _M7-97_ , but since the traitor left his power armor near Natick, he could be virtually anywhere – could be miles beyond the Commonwealth, or even back in the Institute.

Arthur’s been pondering his next course of action in the hours he’s waited for Nora’s return, and it’s with a heavy heart that he orders the vault dweller to kill the synth, to kill the man he once thought was his best friend, a monstrosity of technology, the epitome of everything the Brotherhood stands against.

It’s without a doubt the hardest order he’s ever given, and Nora begs him to change his mind, but he remains stoic despite her pleading. They can’t afford to make exceptions, even if the man he’s ordering to be executed is only one of two people in this godforsaken world that he actually trusts. Or thought he did.

He dismisses her with the promise of a promotion upon completion, tells her to seek out Quinlan to find a starting point for her search. When she’s gone, he all but collapses onto one of the couches, head heavy in his hands as he allows the anger to dissolve, the feeling giving way to one of grief, of loss, betrayal. Danse was his friend for so long, and as much as he hates that Danse is a synth, he almost wishes that the information never came to light.

On the bottom deck of the Prydwen, Amelia sits with a bottle of whiskey in her hands, running her hands up and down the cold glass as she wills the day to end, to wake up and find out that the entire day’s just been a long, convoluted nightmare. The buzz comes a little too quickly, and when she sees Haylen sneaking down to the bottom deck she waves her had flimsily at the scribe, drunken smile on her face as the woman approaches.

“You have to go, Amelia. I – I told Nora to meet me down here, to talk about Danse, and I don’t want you to get involved in case something goes wrong,” she begs of Amelia, helping the young woman to her feet. Haylen steadies her before she nearly pushes her up the stairs, Amelia grabbing onto the railing as she drunkenly stumbles up the steps.

She lets her feet carry her, bottle still in hand as she stumbles past a few initiates. After tonight, she’ll probably succeed Teagan as the Prydwen’s resident drunk, but at this point she doesn’t care. Her best friend is going to be killed, his blood on the hands of the man that she loves, and she takes another swig of the bottle when she reaches the ladder down to the command deck. Going down there probably isn’t the best idea right now, and for whatever reason her mind tells her that going into Arthur’s quarters is the best course of action. She pushes the door open dramatically just to see that the living space is empty.

She’s a little relieved at his absence – she should probably sober up before she tries to talk to Arthur about the situation, because drunkenness does not equate to intelligence when it comes to Amelia. Despite the fact, she takes another gulp from the bottle, plopping onto Arthur’s bed and pulling one of the books off his desk, one that Nora gave to him and that she loaned to Arthur.

She thumbs through the book for a while, more to occupy her hands than to read what’s on the pages. There are little annotations here and there – she remembers Nora saying it was part of her required reading for her undergraduate degree, and she loses herself in the curve of the pre-war woman’s handwriting, the humanity that it adds to an ages old text.

When Arthur slips into the room, it’s well after the sun has set, and he sees Amelia sprawled on his bed snoring softly, arm hanging off the side with the book open on the floor beneath her. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but after the night he’s had he just _really_ wants to sleep in his own bed, but he can’t very well do that when she’s occupying the entirety of it.

The elder crouches down beside her, picks up the book and closes it, setting it down on his side table before placing his hand on her shoulder, shaking Amelia gently. She awakens with a snort, confusion in her tired eyes as she blinks up at him.

“Hey,” he whispers, running his hand over her ear, her cheek, her jaw as she rouses.

“Wha’s ‘appenin’?” she asks, voice groggier than usual, and it’s then that Arthur notices the half empty bottle of vodka sandwiched between his bed and the wall. He frowns a bit; he knows Amelia likes to drink, but she usually doesn’t drink so much alone, and it pains him to know that he’s more than likely the cause of her anguish.

“I just got back… can I join you?” Arthur asks, and it’s a little funny to be asking for permission to lie in his own bed, but Amelia scoots over nonetheless, and he shrugs off his battlecoat and jumpsuit, sitting with his back against the headboard clad in only his briefs.

“Where’ve you been?” Amelia inquires, rolling so her head’s in his lap. Arthur’s fingers curl in her hair instinctively.

“I – I went to find Danse,” Arthur confesses after a slight moment of deliberation. There’s no use in concealing the truth, not when she’ll find out in the morning anyway.

Amelia’s eyes widen and she sits up, the elder’s hand dropping away as she sits up, situating herself next to his legs.

“Did you find him? Is he – did you?” Amelia’s excitement immediately vanishes when she remembers that Arthur didn’t intend to bring Danse back.

“He – _it_ is still alive, yes,” Arthur starts, and even though it was his decision to keep the synth alive he still cringes at his own words. “Knight - _Paladin_ Jones must have been an exceptional lawyer back in the day, because she persuaded me to allow Danse to live.”

Amelia’s eyes brighten, a smile making its way onto her face at the news. Arthur speaks quickly before she can further get her hopes up:

“He won’t be returning to the Brotherhood. Danse – he didn’t know he was a synth, and I, I couldn’t kill him, knowing that, even if I really wanted to,” Arthur explains, and he hates the way that Amelia’s features drop, at how she further sinks into herself the more he talks. He rests a hand on her knee before continuing, hopeful that the gesture will comfort her at the very least. “It was too much like killing an innocent, and with everything that Danse has done for the Brotherhood – for me, and for you – I just couldn’t do it. Even if he’s a synth, he was my brother for such a long time, and…”

“Then why did you banish him?” Amelia interrupts, scowling at the elder’s justification.

“I couldn’t – we’re at war with the Institute, Amelia. If I allowed a synth to live, it would severely undermine my authority, and I don’t know if Danse has some sort of trigger, if he’s some sort of sleeper agent just waiting to be activated-”

“That’s complete bullshit, Arthur!” the scribe yells at him, and he quickly presses a finger to her lips before she can continue, gesturing to the door. It’s late, sure, but sound travels and a female voice coming from his quarters – especially one that’s yelling at him – is definitely going to raise some suspicions.

“It’s not bullshit, Amelia. It’s _war_ , and I can’t allow a known traitor into our ranks. I _know_ that it’s a horrible conclusion – he’s been my friend for longer than you’ve known him. I trusted him with everything and all this time he’s been the enemy…”

Arthur trails off, dropping his head into his hands as he shakes it solemnly. It should be easy, exiling a traitor from their ranks, but no matter how many times he tells himself that it was the right thing, he knows it wasn’t, and he’s at least glad for Paladin Jones’s presence, for her insistence that Danse lives, because he doesn’t know if he could live with himself if he had to kill his best friend.

He wanted to though, god did he want to kill Danse. Wanted to kill the synth that replaced his best friend, but when he realized that Danse didn’t know, that he more than likely had his mind erased and implanted with new memories long before he ever joined the Brotherhood, he couldn’t pull the trigger. Banishment is easy, and even though it hurts to know that he and Danse can never speak again, it would’ve hurt more to kill the man he held by his side for so long.

After he’s successfully subdued his tears, Arthur lifts his head to look at Amelia, the woman’s face twisted into some unreadable expression. She curls her fists like she wants to punch him, and he couldn’t blame her if he did – add it to the list of things he’s long overdue for, right behind a beard trim and a deep tissue massage.

“You could change things! You could make Danse the exception – or you could just revisit the code and maybe get the Brotherhood to consider a different stance on synths or-”

“And open a channel for the Brotherhood to splinter again, as it did under Elder Lyons? No! Synths are the embodiment of everything that the Brotherhood despises. They are machines designed to eradicate humanity, and just because some of them have been wiped and reprogrammed does not mean that their purpose has changed. With a few words they can be reset into mindless killing machines. They cannot be allowed to exist!”

He doesn’t realize that he’s raving at Amelia until he finishes, and he quickly notices how Amelia has pushed away from him, almost cowering against the wall. Arthur takes a deep breath, unclenches his fists and relaxes his body posture. The last thing he wants is for Amelia to be afraid of him.

He scoots closer, drives the scowl off his face to replace it with a look of concern, lowering himself onto his hands as he crawls over to Amelia, runs a hand over her calf, trying to catch her eye.

“I’m so sorry Amy. I didn’t mean to scare you. Please don’t – I didn’t mean to burst like that. I have to stand my ground on this issue – I’ve already rallied everyone for the cause. To take back everything that I said, all the conviction, it’d just splinter us again. We can’t afford that,” the elder clarifies, and he smooths his hand up Amelia’s leg, the scribe still avoiding eye contact. She doesn’t recoil from his hand though, which Arthur takes as a good sign.

The situation is just hitting a little too close to home, and they both need to get some sleep. Today’s been exceptionally tough on both of them, and the next few days will be tougher; in a few days Brandis is due to make an assault on the Railroad, a mission that he’s debating putting Nora in charge of. Once the synth sympathizers are dealt with, they’re taking the fight to the Institute.

He doesn’t want to tell Amelia about the plans because he knows it will only worry her more, and after a few minutes of silence, Arthur pulls his hand back, lays back on the bed and opens his arms to her.

“We should sleep now. It’s been a long day,” Arthur suggests, patting the spot beside him on the small bed. Amelia’s still curled up near the end, and wordlessly she crawls in beside him, resting with her head on his shoulder, hand over his heart with one leg draped between his – Arthur’s favorite cuddling position. It’s the one she always takes when she’s distressed, and the elder customarily runs a hand through her hair, uses the thumb of his other hands to rub small circles over her hips.

Arthur presses a kiss to her head once she’s settled, and whispers that he loves her once he turns the lights off.

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t return the affection, and despite how much he’s been hurt today, her silence is the worst pain of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I wasn't going to write that much about Blind Betrayal... but it just turned into this integral part of the plot and it's the second longest chapter I'm sorry.


	15. Series of Blurs

War is upon them before Amelia really knows what’s happening. It seems that Danse’s revelation was the turning point for the Brotherhood; after he’s gone, they start finalizing plans to wipe out the Railroad, to load up Liberty Prime and make the final attack on the Institute. That last one needs to happen sooner rather than later. The Institute has started sending out synths to ambush Brotherhood patrols and it’s only a matter of time until they attack the airport.

They’re being extra cautious with the mark-28’s; Arthur hasn’t even requested their transfer to the airport yet, too afraid that the Institute or the Railroad will find out and use the bombs against them. Even though he’s learned that Danse wasn’t a sleeper agent, he’s still wary of the fact that the synth was the one to discover the location of the nukes. For all he knows the Institute could’ve been tapping into Danse’s mind, or frequency, or whatever sort of technology forms a synth’s consciousness. Whatever it is, nuclear bombs are not something he’s going to be careless about.

Amelia’s just playing the waiting game, waiting for Arthur to authorize a mission to find a power source for Prime. She’s out of the loop for when that’ll happen, strategies and information being run past the paladins and knight-captains rather than by proctors and scribes.

Despite being generally uninformed, Amelia can piece together what they’re going to do with Prime, and while she still hopes that they won’t use the machine to bring the complete and utter destruction of her former home, she knows it’s more than inevitable. Doctor Li often catches the scribe thoughtfully idling around the base, staring up at the robot with prudence. The woman joins in on occasion, marveling at their work, talking quietly about the Institute and what good they could do for the wasteland if only they tried.

Arthur’s constantly preoccupied with strategizing, formulating plans with Nora and the rest of the team he plans to lead to the Institute. He rarely gets sleep, barely has time to eat, and he takes his stress out on Amelia, picking fights with her over nothing more often than not.

Their relationship is nothing if not strained, the time they spend together no longer a pleasurable escape but hours filled with tension, quiet, sadness. Every game they play falls flat, every rigid sip of alcohol heightening their stress levels rather than relieving them.

Some days are better than others: some nights they hold hands while drinking, sit between the others’ legs, kiss each other goodbye when it’s time to turn in. It’s just enough to keep their relationship alive, though every day that passes since Danse’s banishment seems to pull them further apart.

It’s the night after Nora and Brandis destroy the Railroad that Amelia reaches her breaking point. She’s devastated when she hears the news, but has to conceal it, forcing a smile on her face while her brothers and sisters cheer for the two paladins’ success. The Railroad was probably responsible for helping Danse escape the Institute, so in a sort of roundabout way, they were one of the players that led to Amelia joining the Brotherhood.

Amelia can’t stand the jubilation coming from the halls when Kells opens a bottle of champagne in celebration, hating how every life they end is just an excuse to celebrate for the Brotherhood. The Railroad, they were good people, from what Nora’s told her, and she can’t help but feel partially responsible for their demise. Maybe if they hadn’t discovered the information on Danse, Arthur wouldn’t have developed such a vendetta against the organization and they could’ve continued to operate in the shadows.

She feels sick to her stomach when Kells raises a toast to the two paladins, and she easily slips away from the back of the crowd, retreating to the forecastle, where she’s surprised to see Arthur staring out at the skyline.

“I would’ve thought you’d be downstairs, celebrating,” she says, and maybe there’s a little sting in her words, but with the way Arthur’s been acting lately, she doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad for it.

Arthur just hums, leaning up against the railing, cigarette in hand. Amelia hesitates by the door before she just goes for it, stepping up next to Arthur and lighting up a cig of her own. They don’t say anything for a while, and Amelia eventually pulls out a flask filled with whiskey, takes a sip from it before offering it to the elder. He indulges himself wordlessly, and they pass the flask back and forth until Arthur gets a little buzzed, declining for more.

At his negation, Amelia throws the rest of the whiskey back, careless of her liquor intake like she has been recently. It feels like she spends more of her time drunk than sober, but the Brotherhood’s at war with the Institute and Amelia’s at war with herself. It’s better to drink herself into oblivion than face her internal conflict.

“I don’t think we should use Prime to destroy the Institute,” Amelia suggests once she finishes off the whiskey. Her fingers grip the flask tightly, almost daring the aluminum to bend in her grasp as she stops herself from looking at Arthur. The elder stands rigidly next to her, not having spoken a word since her arrival. This probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, but the words are already out there and she’s not taking them back. “It’d be a waste of resources, both theirs and ours.”

“I thought you didn’t hold any sentiment towards the Institute,” Arthur chides, throwing a half-finished cigarette over the railing with disdain.

Amelia’s already over the argument before it begins, but she can’t back down from the bait, almost scowling at the elder as he challenges her previous words.

“I _don’t_ , I just happen to value innocent lives, is all.”

“Each one of the people down there is responsible for the terrors plaguing the Commonwealth. They kidnap people, replace them, make their synths destroy settlements. They aren’t innocent,” Arthur’s using his elder voice now, booming down at Amelia while still refusing to look at her. He feels like he’s explained this before, but Amelia’s inciting him and he refuses to be undermined.

“There are women and children down there, Arthur. And you’re just going to throw a couple of nukes at them and act like that makes you the better man.”

Arthur looks at the scribe then, but she’s turned away, a haze clouding her features in the dim lighting. The night is still, smoke from their cigarettes settling around them as they stand on the balcony overlooking the downtown area.

“ _Do not_ compare me to those bastards. The Brotherhood does not slaughter settlements or create abominations to further our agenda. We are _nothing_ like them,” the elder bites back, and Amelia can’t help but scoff.

“You force settlements to hand over their crops with the promise of a few measly caps, you construct a giant robot and program it to throw nukes near civilian populations, you-”

“Need I remind you that you’re one of the head engineers on Liberty Prime? Or is that harsh truth too convenient for you to remember?”

“Like I had a choice, Arthur!” Amelia turns to him, finally meeting his eyes for the first time that night. It takes everything she has not to punch him square in the jaw, give him a couple of bruises to remember her by while he’s in battle. “I was assigned to Prime, and I only worked so hard on it in hopes that you would use him as a negotiation tactic, not equip him with bombs and destroy an entire facility that we could utilize! There’s so much down there that you don’t even know about - stuff that I didn’t even know about until I poured through all the data!”

“We have all the Institute’s data, there is nothing down there that is of any worth to us. It is science without limitations, people that cannot be reasoned with. We will not negotiate!” Arthur almost yells the last bit, pushing away from the railing as he squares himself. “You said there would be no conflict of interest here but you’re allowing sentiment to cloud your judgment.”

“For the last time, I don’t harbor feelings towards the Institute! I happen to care about preserving life, what’s best for the future. Sure, we have all of the Institute’s data, but what good will the information on modified crops be if we don’t have their samples? How can we provide clean water if we don’t have their purification system? We could make a difference, Arthur! We could start rebuilding the Commonwealth – the entire wasteland, even! But you sit up here on your airship overlooking those on the ground and pretending that you’re better than them because you were born in a bunker back west to a family whose name means _nothing_ to these people. Why care about them when you have vertibirds and fresh food and an endless supply of people to kiss your ass?”

Maybe if she was sober, Amelia would be a little more conservative with her thoughts, but every discrepancy she’s had with the Brotherhood, with Arthur, comes pouring out. She can tell the words sting by the way Arthur backs away from her, his eyes widening in disbelief rather than anger.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way,” Arthur says, voice tight but no longer as angry. He’s actually a little shocked at Amelia’s outburst, not sure if it’s the alcohol talking or if these are the true feelings she’s been retaining all these years.

“ _Come on_ , Arthur. You know that I’ve never been sold on all that ’eternal steel’ bullshit. I joined the Brotherhood because I was young and had no place to go. I stayed because I fell in love with you. Maybe that was my mistake.”

She’s refusing to look at him now, and there’s a pain in Arthur’s chest that makes him wish he would have never provoked her. He supposes it’s best that these feelings come out in the open now, before the attack on the Institute. Maybe he’ll die in battle and no longer have to be such a burden on her.

Arthur’s debating turning around and leaving Amelia to her vices, but before he can move she’s grabbing his jacket, halting him in his tracks. He thinks she’s going to punch him at first, and he can’t say he’d blame her, bracing himself for the impact. Instead, she presses her body against him, burying her head in the lapels of coat. It takes Arthur a moment to realize that she’s crying, and his heart breaks a little bit with every sob that rocks her body.

The elder circles his arms around her shoulders, holds her flush against his chest while she releases her pent up emotions. Tears form in his own eyes but he wills them down; he’s an elder, a Maxson, a man of legend. He cannot be seen crying, not even by of the woman he loves.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” are the words of comfort that he whispers in her ear, clutching her tighter, one hand running through her hair as he encourages her to let it out. Ever since the Brotherhood arrived in the Commonwealth, things have been hard on the both of them, and it’s high time that they get all their feelings out, even if Amelia’s words still sting a bit.

They can get past it, though, get through the next couple of weeks and come out on top. They have to.

 

\------

 

He was wrong.

Arthur was certain, so certain that their night on the forecastle was therapeutic, that the words they threw at each other were going to bounce off and they’d come out with a better understand of each other, more respectful of each others' hopes, desires, wishes. That didn’t happen.

No, instead Amelia avoids the Prydwen altogether, switching out responsibilities with a senior scribe stationed at the police station in Cambridge. There she doesn’t have to see Arthur, gets to spend time with Haylen and a few other scribes that she’s close to. It’s simple enough work, cleaning weapons and sorting through recovered tech, and she’s thankful for the distraction. It’s just enough to keep her mind occupied without wearing her out, and in the evenings the soldiers turn up the radio and enjoy each others' company, something unheard of at the main base.

Working with Haylen is a relief; the field scribe’s always understood Amelia’s struggles without having to directly lay them out for her, and they cozy up to each other in the evenings, gossiping and giggling like young girls. It’s a welcome change in routine from the usual seriousness she’s faced with back at the airport.

Everything goes well at the police station, except for Amelia’s engineer fatigues being ruined after a mishap with some nuclear material. She ends up trading a couple laser rifle mods for an olive green jumpsuit, throwing her scribe vest over it and calling that her uniform. It’s not regulation, but it’ll have to do while she’s out here and doesn’t have any other options. The tight material of the suit turns more than a few eyes at the police station, and Amelia shies away from the male soldiers who attempt to flirt with her. She’s not sure whether she still wants to be with Arthur or not, but regardless, the wounds are too fresh for her to think about being with anyone else.

The soldiers at the station are fairly lax anyway, not ones to fret about uniform regulations or unauthorized equipment trading. Out here, there are no proctors, no star-paladins, just a bunch of knights, scribes, and a few paladins sitting around exchanging stories. All the high ranking soldiers reported back to the Prydwen two weeks ago, right after the attack on the Railroad, preparing for the assault on the Institute that’s scheduled for a few days. Those of lesser rank are left to police themselves, responsibilities falling by the wayside since all they’re doing is waiting, keeping the police station hunkered down until the Institute’s wiped out.

Aside from the power armor suits in the corner, it’s almost like they’re a bunch of college students after a long day of classes, sprawled out in a circle on the floor of the station while various bottles of alcohol are passed from soldier to soldier, indulging themselves in drinking games, _would you rather_ , _never have I ever_. It feels juvenile, but out of the fifteen or so of them in the circle, nearly everyone is under the age of thirty, so they still have the excuse of being young and dumb.

“Never have I ever slept with somin’ above my rank,” one of the knights – Moses – offers in the midst of one of the games. Amelia knows his name because he was a scribe that worked under her until he switched services after the Prydwen’s launch, remembers him for his sense of humor and lively personality, his dark skin and weird accent and the dreadlocks that fall into his eyes.

Amelia’s fingers curl tightly around her glass of whiskey, and she hesitates to drink, watching instead while most scribes and knights and even a paladin sip from their cups.

Haylen elbows her, eyes flickering to Amelia’s glass and then back up to her face. Amelia raises an eyebrow at the woman, because technically she and Arthur haven’t slept together, but the field scribe just motions for her to drink, conveying without words that it counts, at least in this situation.

Amelia blushes, takes a sip from her whiskey, eyes downcast in hopes that no one will notice. They do, of course – these are people trained to be perceptive. A few people holler at her and Moses even teases her a bit: “I didn’t think ya had it in ya, Dirthe!”

The young senior scribe doesn’t say anything, avoiding eye contact with everyone but Haylen, who just smiles drunkenly. There goes her untainted reputation.

“Who was it?” a lancer chimes in, the same one Amelia persuaded to take Haylen to Waypoint Echo a week or so ago. She’s since learned that his name is Charlie Bradbury, that he was born in Colorado at Vault 0 to Brotherhood parents and is a year younger than she is. Amelia’s blush deepens as she shakes her head, not yet willing to disclose that information.

“Scandalous!” the paladin sitting next to her, Laura, yells, clasping a hand on the young woman’s shoulders and grinning up at her. Amelia knows that Paladin Elbert is an older soldier, that she’s probably the oldest one in their group. It also explains why she’s the most intoxicated – a soldier who’s been in the ranks for so long is bound to have a multitude of secrets.

Laura is the next to go, and she eyes the circle before declaring: “never have I ever had sex off a mattress.”

Amelia doesn’t even hesitate before drinking this time. There’s been plenty of that – rushed touches against walls in Arthur’s quarters, on his desk or hers back at Adams, on the forecastle that one time when they were a little too drunk. The memories send pleasant warmth through her body when she drinks, and she indulges in the feeling for a moment before remembering that she’s mad at Arthur. Her smile turns quickly to a frown for a moment, but she catches herself, forcing a smile back onto her face when everyone looks to her.

It’s her turn next, the warmth in her core making the jumpsuit she wears feel a little too tight.

“Never have I ever fooled around with anyone of the same sex,” is what she contributes, laughing when Moses, Laura, Haylen, and another scribe drink. Laura drinks a little too enthusiastically, liquor sloshing out of her glass when she slams it on the ground with a smile, daring any of the younger soldiers to question her.

Haylen goes next, eyes narrowing at Amelia, smiling deviously before she turns back to face the group.

“Never have I ever fantasized about Elder Maxson,” Haylen offers, and Amelia’s eyes widen in shock before she can stop herself. The field scribe just continues to smirk, and the younger woman notices that she’s not the only one drinking – all the other women aside from the paladin join in. Even Moses takes a sip from his glass, looking positively unembarrassed as he smiles at Amelia, who takes a bigger gulp than usual, since she’s done more than fantasize.

The game continues late into the morning, the confessions growing increasingly more intimate, dirty, sexual, until everyone’s a little too familiar with the conquests of their brothers and sisters.

Amelia’s assigned roof watch duty that night by Laura. She’s a little buzzed as she waves to her friends, drunkenly hugging Haylen before she heads up the stairs. When she’s on the roof, she leans against the landed vertibird, laser rifle in hand and eyes closed in an attempt to compose herself, a little lightheaded from all the alcohol she’s consumed.

Amelia’s too busy willing her head to stop spinning, too focused on the cool of the vertibird against her back to hear the door to the roof open. She doesn’t realize someone’s joining her until she hears them clearing their throat, opening her startled eyes to see Moses standing in front of her with a shy smile on his face.

“Paladin Elbert wanted me to join you up here. You looked like you had a little too much, so it’s probably better that there’s two of us up here tonight,” he explains, and Amelia just nods, runs a hand through her hair as she pulls herself off the vertibird.

“Probably for the best,” she returns, giggling when she stumbles over her own feet. Moses extends his arms to catch her, helping steady Amelia on her feet before they move over to the sniper chair on the roof.

The knight offers her the seat, perching himself on top of a stack of crates next to her, scanning the general vicinity for any disturbances. Cambridge has been pretty quiet since Paladin Jones cleared out the ferals, but they still need to remain vigilant.

Amelia leans back in the chair, rifle laid across her lap as she closes her eyes again, listening to the sound of cicadas chirping as she tries to sober her up. It’s probably futile – it’s hard for her to sober up unless she sleeps or eats, neither of which are good ideas right now.

Cigarettes are good, though, which she totally does have on her, and she reaches into her vest pocket to pull out a pack and her lighter. Amelia looks up at Moses, offers him the cigarette she’s already lit. He takes it wordlessly, Amelia lighting up another and taking a drag as she looks out over the roof, at the supplies scattered around them. Her eyes linger for a bit on the vertibird, at the one mean of transportation between her and Arthur, contemplating whether she wants to see him or not.

“Charlie’s got a nice ‘bird, huh?” Moses offers, and Amelia just sort of shrugs, not really concerned with the vertibird itself but what it can do for her. “Bet he’d let ya ride in it if ya asked nicely.”

“What do you mean?” Amelia asks, one part confused by his words, another part wondering if he can read her mind.

“He was lookin’ at you all night,” Moses clarifies, his ever present southern drawl decorating his words. Amelia wonders where he grew up to get an accent like that. “Somethin’ between you two or is he just hopeful?”

Amelia starts to shake her head in response but stops herself, eyes squinting as she thinks about it for a moment.

“I may or may not have flirted with him a little while back, just to persuade him to take Haylen somewhere. I don’t – I didn’t think he’d linger on it.”

She had almost forgotten about the exchange, such a minor moment in a much more elaborate plot. Charlie’s feelings, existent or not, are the absolute last thing she needs to worry about right now.

“What would Elder Maxson say about you flirtin’ with other guys?”

Amelia whips her head around to face Moses, eyes wide as she leans forward in her chair.

“What?” she exclaims, her voice echoing in the silence. The tone of her voice alone more than gives her away, and she takes a moment to recompose herself, returning to her normal tone when she speaks again: “Why – why would the elder concern himself with who I flirt with?”

Moses just smirks at her, pushes a fallen dreadlock back into place. The few moments of silence seem to stretch on, Amelia’s heart thudding away emphatically as she contemplates the meaning of his words.

“Just sayin’, don’t think the elder’s the sharin’ type.” Moses stretches out his legs, letting them dangle over the edge of the crate while he continues to smirk at the scribe.

“I – I don’t think I understand what you’re insinuating.”

“C’mon, Dirthe,” Moses says, and it’s weird to be referred to by just her last name with no rank prefacing it, makes her feel like one of the guys, in a way. “I’ve seen y’all sneakin’ around. Stealth ain’t your strength.”

Amelia doesn’t say anything, pink tinting her cheeks as she breaks eye contact with the knight, staring down at her feet in embarrassment.

“Does anyone else know?” she asks, and Moses just smiles, leans back on his hands before speaking again.

“Not that I know of – don’t think anyone else is as, well, _perceptive_ as me. But I seen you guys together, back when the Prydwen launched. Thought there was somethin’ between you then, but I didn’t much pay it mind. Then one night I was on guard duty ‘n’ you took a fella in power armor out with you, and the elder’s door was open even though he wasn’t there or on the command deck, and well, I just put the pieces together. Don’t worry, though, darlin’. I ain’t about to go tellin’ everyone.”

The scribe visibly relaxes, but she’s still freaking out on the inside – they shouldn’t have been so careless. But Moses isn’t the worst person to find out – Amelia doubts he’s going to use such information against her. His heart’s too kind for that.

“I – thank you,” Amelia responds. The knight smiles at her again, scans over the compound before he looks back to the scribe.

“Things alrigh’ between ya? When we was playin’ the game down there, I noticed you kept gettin’ all squirmy every time someone mentioned ‘im,” the knight prods. He really _is_ perceptive, and Amelia shrugs again, eyes flicking down to her lap.

“We’ve been fighting a lot lately, about the Institute, ‘cause I – I think there’s a different way to handle everything, and Arth – Elder Maxson doesn’t agree. And then there was the whole thing with Danse, and I just, everything’s piling up, I guess,” Amelia explains. She’s not really sure why she’s divulging all this information to a man that she hasn’t really talked to for almost two years. Maybe she just needs to get it all out, or maybe she just needs a fresh perspective – there’s only so many times Haylen can tell her to compromise.

“Y’all been together a while?” he asks, and Amelia shrugs.

“Off and on pretty much since the Prydwen’s launch, yeah, but we – we had a history, before then, before he became elder,” the scribe explains, and Moses just nods in listening, and for whatever reason – be it the alcohol or the way Moses is smiling at her, soft and nonjudgmental – Amelia finds herself telling him everything.

She starts with when they met, how he aimed a gun right between her eyes, how she’s probably been in love with him since the moment he put down the pistol. When she tells him about their first kiss and the day that followed, Moses places a hand on her shoulder, and she blinks back her tears before continuing, skipping the three years of absence and jumping right into that night in her office when she and Arthur decided to give it another go.

Amelia hits the highlights and the lowlights, leaving out anything too intimate, but she does divulge that they’ve never had sex, that they’ve been slowly working up to it but she’s not sure if she’s ready to give that part of her away, especially not after this last fight. She doesn’t want to do something that she’d probably regret.

By the end, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off her shoulders – with Danse gone, Amelia’s only confidant has been Haylen, and to have a male perspective is refreshing. When she finishes Moses just smiles sadly at her, hoists her up onto the crate and pulls her into his side. The closeness feels nice, and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s drunk or missing intimacy or what, but when she lays her head on Moses’s shoulder she feels content for the first time since her and Arthur’s fight.

“Love isn’t easy, kid,” Moses states, so matter of fact that it makes Amelia curious as to who the knight’s been shacking it up with, but now isn’t the time for questions. “Maxson’s an important man who makes important decisions, ‘n’ sometimes it seems like they may not be the best, but he knows what he’s doin’. There’s a reason the bunch of us would follow ‘im to the grave.”

“But he’s leading an attack against civilians! That’s my whole issue – I, I know there are people down there who don’t have anything to do with synth production, and he just wants to wipe them out.”

“There’s always gonna be collateral damage, always people gettin’ in the way who don’t need t’die. All I’m sayin’ is I wouldn’t want to be the one pickin’ who gets to live and who don’t, s’not as black ‘n’ white as you think it is.”

It’s a good point that Moses raises, and Amelia mulls it over. She’ll probably never be able to see Arthur’s point of view, but she can at least take into account that it is a difficult decision.

“I – thank you, Moses. I think I needed to hear that.” Amelia smiles softly at the knight, who returns the smile tenfold, throwing an arm around the scribe’s shoulders and giving it a squeeze.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

It’s almost sunrise, and it’s hard to believe that they’ve been talking for four hours, but the first tethers of sunlight are starting to creep over the horizon and it’s only a matter of time before they’re relieved of watch duty.

Relief comes sooner than they’d thought – almost immediately after Amelia notices the sunrise, Laura comes out onto the roof, tells them both to get inside and get a few hours of rest before they’re to report for duty at noon.

The knight and scribe thank her, and Moses gives Amelia a quick hug once they’re inside. They bid each other goodbye before they split, each going to their respective cots, Amelia’s in the former chief’s office and Moses’s in the old office area.

Amelia’s out almost immediately after she hits the cot, fatigue from the alcohol and staying up all night putting her right to sleep. It’s all too soon that she’s awoken by Charlie, who stands before her with his flight helmet in hand, frowning.

“Proctor Ingram requests your immediate return to the airport,” the lancer says, and Amelia blinks a few times, looks at the clock hanging in the room. It’s only been two hours.

The scribe groans, sits up on the bed and grabs for her socks, jumpsuit, boots, vest. She tells Charlie that she’ll meet him up on the roof in ten minutes, just needs to gather her things and grab some breakfast first. The lancer lingers for a moment too long, and Amelia uncomfortable shuffles her feet, underclothes in hand as she waits for him to leave. He grunts out an affirmation before exiting her room, and Amelia realizes just how perceptive Moses really is.

The senior scribe doesn’t actually eat, forgoes food so she can say her goodbyes to Haylen, because she doubts that she’ll be seeing the older woman again until after the Institute is dealt with, and probably not for a while thereafter. When she’s collected all her things and said her goodbyes, it’s two minutes later than when Amelia told Charlie she’d be on the roof, and she apologizes as she clambers aboard the vertibird, securing her bag before she buckles herself down into the seat.

“No unauthorized passengers this time?” Charlie asks. Amelia wonders if this is his attempt at humor. It’s a little dry.

“Just me,” she responds, with a small smile, slipping the spare flight helmet over her head so she can connect to the communications system.

“BR-540L departing Cambridge with DR-180SS, en route to the Prydwen,” Charlie says over the radio when they take flight. A lancer back at the main base affirms his route, and Amelia settles back into the seat, dozes off while they fly over the Commonwealth.

She’s awoken only when the vertibird lands at the airport. It takes her a minute to come to her senses; the ten minutes of slumber only serve to increase her exhaustion. By the time she pulls off the buckles, Charlie is standing on her side of the vehicle, her bags in his hand as he offers her a hand. Amelia takes it, thankful for the steadiness while she’s still so groggy.

She thanks the lancer for his help, takes her bag from him and slings it over her back as she turns to leave.

“Uh, Amelia?”

Charlie’s voice stops her in her tracks, and she turns to face him with a faked smile. She just wants to know why Ingram needed her to report back to base and then go to bed, okay?

“Yes, Lancer Bradbury?” She refers to him formally in hopes of keeping this chaste, but the way Charlie shuffles his feet just screams delay.

“I was wondering… if you’d like to grab dinner with me sometime? Not like, at the mess deck or anything, but maybe, I don’t know, Diamond City, or…” Charlie trails off, and Amelia’s shocked, a giggle bubbling in her throat as she looks wide-eyed at the lancer. Moses was right, but she still can’t laugh at him, that would be cruel. She swallows the laughter before speaking:

“I’m actually… seeing someone, sort of,” she starts, and she almost feels bad for the way Charlie visibly deflates. “I’m sorry, if I gave you the wrong impression, Charlie, I-”

“It’s fine, ma’am,” he responds, and Amelia’s all too aware of how he feels – sticking his neck out to approach a senior officer. Rejecting him feels terrible, but her heart’s still with Arthur. Probably always will be.

“Have a good day, Lancer Bradbury,” Amelia says, saluting him before turning to leave. That was probably the most awkward experience of her life, so she can’t imagine how Charlie is feeling. Poor kid.

When she reaches Ingram, the proctor tells her excitedly that Maxson has cleared her for field duty, and that she’s leaving Amelia in charge of Prime while she and Paladin Jones head to the Mass Fusion building to retrieve his power source.

Amelia’s only half-attentive, distracted by fatigue, hunger, and the situation with Charlie. She only pays attention to Ingram’s dismissal, all but running to board the next vertibird heading up to the Prydwen so she can actually sleep.

It’s only once she’s in bed that she realizes that the mark-28’s were lined up in front of the robot, which means the power source Ingram is going to find is the very last bit needed for the robot to become fully functional. Once the beryllium agitator is loaded in, they can’t power him back down, and Amelia knows that he’s coded to immediately head for the Institute once activated. The battle for the Institute is going to come sooner than she thought. It’s too late to change Arthur’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this chapter, but I always feel like Amelia & Arthur's fights are too quickly resolved so I wanted a bit of a buffer before the next chapter. Plus, Brotherhood drinking games just sound fun.
> 
> That all being said, there are only five chapters and an epilogue left, and since I finish finals this Thursday I should be able to get them out pretty quickly (I hope). 
> 
> Thank you to those who are sticking with me and taking a chance on this OC fic. Every comment and kudos is like a breath of fresh air to me and I appreciate you all more than you know.


	16. Daylight Holds You Close

The retrieval of the beryllium agitator is successful, of course it is; Paladin Jones is one of the most capable soldiers the Brotherhood has ever seen, and combine her presence with Ingram and a few of their best field soldiers and the job was simple enough. Not even a swarm of Institute synths or killer robots stood in the way of the paladin, whose vendetta against the Institute has always been personal.

That evening, the agitator is stored in a fortified room in the airport, guarded by six soldiers in power armor at all times. Attacking the Institute that night is an option, but Arthur insists that everyone needs rest, that it would be callous to attack the organization when most of its occupants are sleeping. Despite the collapse of civilization, there are still rules to war.

Amelia counts that as a small victory; even if she hasn’t talked to Arthur in nearly two weeks he at least took something she said into account, recognizing that the Institute is primarily composed of _people_ , not just mindless drones.

The scribe spends the evening after Ingram's return tuning up power armor for the next day’s attack, fixing dents and scratches because a well-kept army is a successful army or something. She’s just doing the task she was assigned, maybe even taking it a little further with buffing and waxing, something the other scribes aren’t bothering with. It doesn’t matter – the work keeps her busy, keeps her thoughts off Arthur and Moses’s advice and the attack tomorrow and everything else that haunts her these days.

She works well into the night, long past when most of the scribes turn in for the night but she’s not concerned – she’s too awake from the nap she took after arriving back at the airport, plus she’s not part of the attack tomorrow and doesn’t need to rest. Going to bed will mean not having anything to focus on, and she’s still avoiding her idle thoughts, thoughts of Charlie and Arthur and the underground facility she was raised in.

Instead of sleeping, she takes off her vest and peels her jumpsuit down to her waist, exposing the dirty tanktop underneath while she continues to buff out scratches. When she’s sure no one’s around to enforce uniform codes, she pushes her hair back with a folded bandana given to her by Paladin Jones, gifted because _it brings out her eyes_ , matches the green jumpsuit that she still wears despite being back aboard the Prydwen and able to request for a new engineer’s outfit. She’s grown fond of the jumpsuit, at its comfort and mobility and how _nice_ she looks in it, the fabric accentuating her hips and legs. And despite everything, she likes the way male soldiers’ eyes linger on her for a little longer than usual. It makes her feel _wanted_ , something she hasn’t felt for a while, even before the fight with Arthur.

After a while, she turns the radio on at a low volume, the broadcast playing some peppy song about jungles and bongos and what not, and Amelia can’t help but smile as she hums along. It’s not long after she’s flipped on the music that she hears heavy footsteps approaching the power armor bay. She’s not really in the mood to socialize, opts to keep her back turned to avoid conversation with whoever is bumbling about the deck at this time of night.

“Isn’t polishing power armor a job for someone of lesser rank?”

Amelia almost drops her rag at the sound of Arthur’s voice in the silence, freezing herself in place instead. After a moment, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes and leans her head against the chest piece of the power armor in hopes that maybe he’ll go away. The radio continues to play in the background, the only noise aside from her own breathing, and Amelia takes a deep breath when she realizes that Arthur’s not going anywhere.

“Doesn’t matter who does it, just needs to be done.”

Her voice sounds foreign to her, the first words she’s spoken to Arthur in two weeks squeezing their way out of her throat as she begs her voice to keep steady. The elder just hums behind her, takes a step forwards the station.

“Haven’t used this suit in forever. But I trust you’ve taken care of it?” Arthur speaks again, and its then that Amelia notices that she’s been polishing the elder’s personal set of power armor without having realized it. Not like she pays much attention to the insignias on the arms when she’s greasing hinges and waxing chest plates. 

Amelia doesn’t answer him at first, just pulls away from the power armor and sets her rag down on the table next to the station, wiping her hands on the back of her jumpsuit before she speaks again.

“What do you want, Arthur?”

“I wanted to see you,” he says, stepping towards her with his arms clasped behind his back. “Tomorrow – tomorrow’s a big day, and I don’t want to go into battle on bad terms with you in case…”

_In case he dies_. The sentence goes unfinished, but the weight of his practiced words lingers in the air. Amelia can always tell when Arthur's rehearsed what he wants to say. His voice carries a sort of refined quality, a little more authoritative than the tone he usually uses with her, even if the words are personal, meant to comfort or converse.

Arthur going into battle tomorrow and possibly not making it out is something that Amelia’s definitely been thinking about, but not enough to search the elder out. It’s petty, she knows that, and she supposes that seeking her out makes him the bigger person.

Amelia doesn’t say anything, just takes a sip from her can of purified water, thinking of what she could possibly say to the elder that won’t end in another fight. Thankfully, Arthur speaks first, his fully rehearsed speech spilling out in that same tone.

“I love you, Amelia. I always will. I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t, because, because you’re the most important thing in my world,” Arthur declares, stepping forward so he’s closer to Amelia, could touch her if he just reached out his hand. His speeches are usually so well-paced and precise, but here his words are rushed, attempting to convey his feelings without angering Amelia. “This, the Brotherhood, the Prydwen, it’s all meaningless if I don’t have you to share it with.”

They’re words that Arthur’s said to her before in different flavors, but there’s more weight behind them, his loyalty to the Brotherhood more significant in such a crucial moment for the organization. Amelia’s not easily persuaded by a few heavy words, though, and she crosses her arms before turning to face the elder. 

The first thing she notices is that he looks tired, disheveled. The usually clean shaved sides of his hair have grown out, his beard scraggly and unkempt, and it's obvious that he hasn't gotten a trimming since they last spoke. Whether that's a direct result of their fight or just of the increased stress leading up to tomorrow, she isn't sure. Doesn't really care much. A purple bruise peeks out from behind the beard, spreading out to his cheekbone, enhanced by the bags under his eyes, the color in his cheeks. It’s the face of a soldier, even though Amelia knows he hasn't been out in combat recently, and Amelia’s unblemished skin only serves as juxtaposition, another reason why they aren’t a good fit.

“You should – should be with someone who has the same ideals as you, Arthur. I’m not, I’m not a fighter, I’m not cut out for battle. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bring myself to kill another person, mechanical or not,” Amelia starts, staring down at her feet while she talks. She can’t look at him, knows she’ll fall apart if she even briefly meets his gaze. Her voice lowers to a near-whisper when she speaks again. “An elder – a Maxson – should be with someone who’s more committed, a paladin or someone of higher rank who-”

“I don’t _want_ someone like that! When will you understand that you’re the only one that I want – the only one I’ve ever wanted?” Arthur booms, voice echoing throughout the bay. Amelia winces, motions to their surroundings in hoping of hushing him, getting the elder to lower his voice so they aren’t overheard. The gesture only serves to anger Arthur, nostrils flaring open as he looks back at her. “No, I don’t care who overhears. I love you, Amelia! I’ve loved you since we were fifteen years old and nothing, not Lost Hills or a gap in rank or the opinion of my soldiers is going to keep me from you any longer.”

He steps forward with every word, following Amelia as she steps back until she’s pressed up against the steel wall behind her, timidly avoiding the gaze of the man who stands before her, demanding her understanding.

Like this, with his chest nearly pressed up against her, she realizes just how intimidating Arthur is; she always knew how big he was, but with him looming over her, he looks commanding, aggressive. Not someone she'd want to face in battle. She lets out a shaky breath when Arthur’s hand smooths down her cheek, his thumb running underneath her jaw to tilt her head back and force her to look him in the eyes.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m sorry,” Arthur says when he notices the tears pooling in her eyes, pulls his hand back. He tries to step back, is stopped when Amelia grabs at his coat, holding him in place without meeting his eye.

The elder doesn’t move, confused by the action but not unmindful of it. He’ll wait until she’s ready, wait forever if it means that he can finally be with her, can stop sneaking around and pretending to others that what’s between them doesn’t exist.

It’s a short moment later that a sob rips from Amelia’s throat, the scribe collapsing into Arthur’s chest, hands fisted in his coat as she cries against him. The elder holds her upright, one arm wrapped tightly around her back and the other cradling her head, comforting her as she cries. 

Arthur hears footsteps approaching, but he pays them no mind. In this moment, all that matters is Amelia. He’ll deal with his soldiers later.

Reassuring words are whispered into her hair, and Arthur kisses wherever he can reach without displacing her. It’s a few minutes later that Amelia pulls back, wipes the tears from her face as she smiles sadly up at him.

“Sorry,” Amelia apologizes, voice coarse and dry. Arthur doesn’t say anything, just cups her face in his hands and kisses her with everything he can muster, weeks of unexpressed adoration unleashing themselves at the press of lips.

Amelia’s arms wind around Arthur’s neck when the older man traps her up against the wall, covering her body with his. He presses incessant kisses against her lips, her cheeks, kissing the tracks of Amelia’s tears, using the affection to convey everything, all his hopes and dreams and desires, all his love for this woman who drives him crazy.

When Amelia draws his lips back to her own and reciprocates, Arthur eases up just a bit. His kisses are simpler, gentler, less needy. The scribe’s hands knot in his hair, suspended on her toes as she pulls herself closer. All their unexpressed feelings from the past few weeks come in full force, and the gentle kisses soon turn animalistic. Their emotions are all over the place, but there’s one thing holding them together – a desperate attempt to be close, to be with each other for what could possibly be the last time.

Desperation guides Arthur as his hands trail from Amelia’s neck down her back until he’s gripping her ass in his palms. Amelia gasps as he hoists her up on his waist, pressing her body harder against the wall. The kisses grow greedier, hungrier still when Amelia winds her legs around his body, pulls his hips against hers. The scribe leans her head back, allowing Arthur’s mouth to trail her neck. One of his hands dives underneath her tanktop to trail over her abdomen, grip at her hips, and it isn’t until that touch that Amelia realizes how much she’s _missed_ this, how much she missed being intimate with Arthur, how much she missed the way he always manages to make her feel sexy and beautiful and _appreciated_.

This isn’t at all how he expected the night to go, but Arthur’s definitely ready to get hot and heavy with Amelia right here, even if anyone could round the corner or peer over the railing and see them going at it. It’s that reminder, that little bit of logic that reminds the elder that he can’t command his soldiers if they don’t respect him, and going at it with his secret girlfriend in the open expanse of the Prydwen isn’t very decorous of him.

“Amelia,” Arthur speaks, and it comes out more breathy than he intended, the woman above him moaning softly in return rather than ceasing. The noise causes him to rut against her, and the followed tightening of his jumpsuit snaps him back to his original intentions. He loosens his grip on the small woman, pulling back to see her swollen lips, pupils dilated with lust and god, he wants her. But not here. “Let’s go to my room.”

Amelia smiles shyly, pulls herself off the wall and settles back down on the floor with a helpful hand from the elder. When she’s steady on her feet, Arthur laces his fingers with hers, presses one last kiss to her lips before tugging her down the hallway. He keeps ahold of her hand as they walk, tightening his grip when they pass lingering soldiers in the mess deck who look at them quizzically. He nods to acknowledge their presence, but otherwise ignores them, ignores the whispers that ripple through the air before they’re even out of the room.

The two reach his quarters quickly. Arthur pulls her inside, no need to be sneaky now that they’ve got nothing to hide. News of them will spread around the base quickly, but he doesn’t plan to pay it any mind, at least not for a while.

Arthur locks the door behind them, and when he turns back around to face Amelia she’s smiling softly up at him, cheeks flushed and she looks so beautiful, so tempting, and he’s waited so long to touch her again that he’s not about to deny himself any longer. Without a moment’s hesitation he closes the distance between them, lifts her back onto his hips as he kisses her hotly, chases after the ever-present taste of nicotine on her tongue. 

There’s not a lot they can do like this, in the middle of Arthur’s quarters, so he walks them over to the bed, drops the small woman onto it, following her down and caging her in. His hair falls into his eyes as he leans over her, and the smile that Amelia gives him makes his heart soar. He kisses her once she’s nestled into the pillows at the head of the bed, kisses her lips, her jaw, down her chest until he reaches her hips, untying the arms of the jumpsuit from around her waist and lowering it down her body. Her boots prevent him from pulling it fully off her, and he grunts impatiently as he claws at the laces, throwing them and the jumpsuit across the room when he’s got them untied.

When he looks up, Amelia’s biting her lip, and in response he throws his coat onto a nearby chair, slips off his boots and unbuckles the top of his jumpsuit before crawling back on top of her, dropping his hips against hers as he kisses her. Amelia gasps when his erection presses against her thigh, and with fumbling fingers she pulls down the zipper of his jumpsuit, pushes the garment down and off his body until he’s just in his briefs, eager to get down to it.

Arthur pulls the rest of her clothes off slowly, kissing her skin as its revealed. Her tanktop and underclothes fall off the side of the bed along with her bandana. He takes a moment to sit back on her thighs and just admire her, admire the small protrusion of her stomach, the thatch of hair between her legs and the blonde fuzz on her thighs, the curve of her hips and the jut of her breasts, the way her blonde roots peak out on her head where she hasn’t dyed her hair in a while.

It doesn’t matter how many times he sees her like this; she’s perfect. She’s always been perfect. She’ll always be perfect.

“I love you,” he says, dropping down to kiss her again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you,” Amelia responds, and Arthur doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of hearing those words from her.

The elder runs his hands up her body, trailing up her thighs, her hips, cupping her breasts as he leans down to kiss at them, open mouth leaving a wet trail as he dips lower, kisses down across her stomach until he’s between her legs, his beard scratching as he goes. Amelia looks down at him with wide eyes and swollen lips, heavy breaths expelling from her chest in anticipation. Arthur lowers his mouth to her inner thighs, facial hair tickling her skin, breath hot at her mound and _god_ there’s never been a better sight.

She can’t help but whine when he leans back, and Amelia almost smacks him when he laughs at her because god damn it, she needs him, this isn’t funny anymore.

Thankfully, he doesn’t hold off any longer, tongue darting out to trail along her slit as Amelia gasps and writhes above him, one leg curling instinctively around his head to bring him _closer_. 

He doesn’t dare tease her any longer, diving in to suck on her clit, run his tongue down her folds until he can flick it inside her. Amelia writhes above him, conscious of just how much better Arthur’s gotten at this since they first started.

Amelia’s back arches when he nips at her clit, and oh god, she’s so close already, too pent up to draw things out. She informs Arthur, and instead of finishing her off he pulls back, wipes his mouth off on his arm before crawling back up her body and kissing her. She whines into the kiss, because now she’s on edge and Arthur isn’t going to let her finish until she’s finished him off, because he’s horrible and a tease. He bites at her neck then, hard enough to bruise, and she really, _really_ hates him right now, especially when he trails his mouth to bite at her earlobe because he knows how weak that makes her.

His fingers trail back down, two digits curling inside her and this is new; Arthur doesn’t usually finger her immediately after going down on her. He usually likes to get them each to the edge and switch the roles, drawing it out as long as possible, but she supposes they don’t have a lot of time tonight, with it already being late and Arthur having an early start tomorrow and what not.

Amelia releases a soft moan when his fingers curl and twist, when he adds another one and looks at her, mouth open as his chest heaves with labored breaths. She realizes that he’s still got his briefs on, and she composes herself enough to push them down his legs, Arthur stopping his movements to get them off his ankles before he resumes fingering her. This time, Amelia returns the favor, wraps her fingers around his cock and squeezes the base before trailing upwards, fingers swiping over the head when Arthur moans eagerly above her.

Everything's happening so fast. They’ve never gotten each other off at the same time, preferring to take turns bringing each other to the end, and it’s new, different, but good. Definitely good.

Arthur moans again when Amelia cups her unoccupied hand around his balls, bites Amelia’s shoulder to keep himself quiet. The scribe gasps in return, and after a moment Arthur pulls back, presses his forehead against hers.

“I – I need you,” Arthur whispers against her lips. “Please.”

“You have me,” she responds, and Arthur’s fingers press a little deeper, more insistent into her as he shakes his head.

“More,” he whispers, trying to convey what he wants without saying the words. Amelia’s not catching on, though, and he pulls his fingers out of her, shifts his body downwards to rub his cock against her folds. “Wanna make love to you.”

Amelia’s heart skips a beat – it’s cheesy, the way he asks it, but she admits to herself after a moment of uncertainty that she wants this too, wants to give Arthur this part of her because she’s not sure if they’ll ever have the chance again. In all honesty, it’s probably not the best reason, but she’s too clouded by lust to delve deeper into her logical mind.

“Don’t want to die a virgin?” she jokes, a pang in her chest as she realizes how much of a possibility it is for that to happen tomorrow. Arthur chuckles, lips curving into a sad smile.

“I want… I want you to have this,” Arthur tries to explain, but the right words won’t come. He tries again. “I love you. I want to spend my life with you.”

Whether that’s for the next couple hours or the next forty years, they won’t know. But for now, the promise is enough. Amelia weaves her hands into the short chop of Arthur’s hair, pulls him down so their lips meet, an assurance that everything will be fine.

The atmosphere has changed, that’s for certain, hastiness giving way to patient, slow movements. Despite everything, despite the fact that they made up less than an hour ago, Amelia trusts him to take care of her, knows that Arthur would never take advantage of her. She’s nervous, without a doubt, but it’s _Arthur_ , the man she’s loved for almost five years. There’s no one else she’d rather share this with.

Arthur takes one of her hands, laces their fingers together before pressing her arm down above her head. He logs how her hair splays against the pillowcase, how wonderfully the bite marks on her neck contrast with her pale skin, the image stored away as a memory for later. This is the woman who loves him. How did he get so lucky?

Amelia’s still wet when his fingers trail back down to press inside her, and when she starts keening against him again he figures it’s time to get down to it. Having never done this before, Arthur’s not really sure where to start, but he knows that dry anything is bad. He’s not at all prepared for this, so he just sort of looks at Amelia, trying to convey what’s on his mind without saying it.

Luckily Amelia picks up on it, and she smiles reassuringly at him as she wets her fingers, salivating on the digits until they’re coated and she wraps them around his erection.

Arthur curses when she rubs her fingers over the head, and Amelia smiles deviously at him, repeating the action. He pushes her hand away when she does it a third time; he wants this to last, and if she keeps doing that he doesn’t know if that’ll be a possibility.

“Right, so now…” Arthur trails off, looking up at Amelia shyly. A laugh disguised as a breath expels from her, and when Arthur doesn’t move she takes the initiative, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling his hips forward.

The tip of his cock rubs against her clit and Amelia moans, louder than she should considering the circumstances. Regardless, Arthur wants to hear her make that noise again, repeats the movement. This time, Amelia’s moan is quieter, breathier, sexier. He slides his full length against her then, dropping down to silence her moan with his lips. When she moans into his mouth, he can’t help but smirk a bit, pleased by her response.

He’s coated in her slick after a few more slides and he figures now’s better than never. One hand trails down to grip at Amelia’s hips, the other wrapping around the base of his cock, aligning himself with her before he looks up to make eye contact, to check and make sure that everything’s still good to go. She looks nervous, and so is he, if he’s being honest, but she tips her head up beckoningly, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

He pushes in, just the tip to start, stopping immediately when Amelia lets out a loud gasp. Worried eyes flick up back to see her biting her lip. He’s a lot thicker than three fingers and she definitely is not prepared for this. But she’s not about to call it quits, not when she’s already set her mind to this, to giving Arthur this part of her. Instead she fists her hands in Arthur’s hair, pulls him down so she can kiss him, occupy herself while she gets used to the strange feeling of him being inside her.

It takes a few minutes but then she’s keening against him, and Arthur steadies himself before pushing in a little bit more, one hand helping guide him in and the other one next to Amelia’s head to hold him up.

“Fuck,” he groans at the feeling, shifting his hips around slightly because it feels too _good_ to stay still. Under him, Amelia’s eyes are skewed shut, not quite in pain but not in pleasure either.

When the tension lines between Amelia’s eyes ease, Arthur pulls out ever so slightly and pushes in at the same depth. This time, it doesn’t take as long to adjust, and Arthur pushes in fully less than a minute later. He stops once he’s buried to the hilt, not just to let Amelia adapt but also because if he moves he already knows he’s done for, can feel the swell in his abdomen that threatens to expel itself if he moves. He keeps his eyes trained on Amelia, watches as she adjusts to the new sensation, to being filled so absolutely for the first time. Her eyes are skewed shut, mouth agape as she releases a shuddered breath. It doesn’t feel bad, not at all; it’s just so different, so unlike anything she’s ever felt before. 

“Move,” she demands once she’s acclimated to the feeling. Arthur obeys, thrusting slowly, shallowly because he still doesn’t trust himself not to finish immediately. It takes a little longer than they imagined, but soon Arthur is moving earnestly, dropping down onto his elbows over Amelia so he can kiss her.

“I love you,” he tells her, voice deep as he pulls her legs tighter around his waist so he can get deeper, feel her better. “You’re perfect.”

Amelia gasps each time he thrusts, the slow rolls of his hips making her eyes roll back in her head. If everything they had been doing before was great, this is a whole new level of pleasure, a form of intimacy that she never thought could feel so good. Arthur’s careful, making sure that she's being pleased, that she’s comfortable, that he’s not hurting her. When he doesn’t concentrate enough and slips out of her, they laugh at the mishap together before resuming the act with smiles on their faces and hair plastered against their foreheads. It’s comfortable even though it’s so foreign to them, uncharted territory in which neither of them have the expertise. When Arthur leans forward to switch angles, Amelia splays her hands across his shoulder blades to feel the muscles rippling beneath as his body moves. When he thrusts particularly deep, particularly good, she pulls him flush against her chest, his head dropping beside hers as he continues.

Like this, Amelia feels the erratic thrumming of his heartbeat, the hair on his chest tickles her torso as he drives into her. Arthur tilts his head to kiss at her neck, trailing his lips to her collarbone to nibble at the protrusion. He hoists himself up on his elbow, his other arm drawling down her chest to palm at her breast, run his thumb over the peak of her nipple, his mouth trailing up to capture hers in a kiss.

They move as a unit, hips meeting with just the right amount of force, lips pressing in sync with interspersing gasps, everything lighthearted, full of soft smiles and adoration. It’s making love, in its purest form, intimacy at its most potent.

She’s close before she really realizes it, and she breaks the kiss to beg Arthur to touch her, directs his hand to her clit as she warns him, _almost_.

He rubs circles with the pads of his fingers, pulls back to look the woman he loves in the eyes when she comes, a whimper of his name falling off her lips when she tumbles off the peak. A warm tingle spreads out from Amelia’s core and she feels the orgasm from her toes to her cheeks. She’s never felt so consumed, so depleted, and she falls back against the mattress with a soft thud, eyes locking with Arthur’s as he continues moving.

She can tell that he’s not far behind by the way his legs tremble, how his breathing becomes labored and unsteady, open lips quivering as he gazes down at her. He’s close, so close, and he only just remembers to pull out before he’s spilling onto Amelia’s stomach, coaxing every last bit out of himself with his hand, eyes rolling back into his head. When he’s spent, when he can no longer hold himself up, he collapses with his head against Amelia’s chest, not a single care for the mess he spreads between them.

“I love you,” Amelia whispers, running a hand through Arthur’s hair while he collects himself, and Arthur tilts his head to smile lazily up at her, presses a kiss to her sternum before pulling himself up.

“That was amazing,” Arthur says dazedly. Amelia raises an eyebrow at him and he immediately dissolves into laughter at his own words, his attempt at pillow talk. The sex didn’t last very long and they sputtered through everything, but it was with Arthur, so Amelia has to agree that it was pretty amazing.

Arthur’s smile quickly turns to a pout when he sees the mess drying on their bodies. Amelia laughs at his expression, leaning off the side of the bed to grab her bandana and hand it to him. This probably isn’t what Paladin Jones intended her to use it for, but it’s their best option, and Arthur smiles gratefully at her while he cleans the both of them off.

When they’re as clean as they can possibly be with such little effort, Arthur collapses next to her, bed springs protesting at the sudden weight. The elder wiggles an arm under Amelia’s shoulders, pulls until her head’s resting against his chest and he can press a kiss to her forehead.

“Love you,” he states before nestling down to sleep. Amelia trails a hand through his chest hair, following it down to the hair between his legs, admiring the way Arthur’s grown into a man.

When she fell in love with him, they were both idealistic teenagers with a naïve sense of optimism, caught up in their own little bubble away from the world. Now, not a lot has changed, but for the first time they’re popping that bubble, allowing everyone a view at what they’ve been hiding for so long. Maybe she should feel afraid, but with Arthur by her side, she has nothing to fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I revised this chapter like twelve times I swear to god. I hope it was worth it. Let me know what you think! Not enough magic and fireworks? Too mundane? First times are usually awkward as hell, and I was trying to capture that while also focus on the whole _love_ thing.
> 
> Also, I wrote a little side drabble thing (like I promised to do like a month ago...) about stargazing and hand-holding. That's **[here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6838165)** if you're interested.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. Would love to hear your guys' feedback!


	17. Don't Hold Back

The next morning she’s woken when Arthur crawls over her to get out of bed. It’s not the first time she’s awakened in such a way; when she stays in Arthur’s room it’s generally given that he’ll get up before her. But this morning is different. This could be their last morning together. Amelia grabs his arm and pulls him back into bed before he can stand all the way up.

Arthur falls backwards, only barely missing Amelia’s body when he hits the mattress. He puffs out a laugh, rolling onto his side to look at the scribe, shy smile on her face as she pulls the blanket up to cover her naked body.

“Why?” he asks halfheartedly, and Amelia just shrugs before throwing the blanket over his equally naked body, curling up against him a moment later.

“Stay?” she asks weakly, even though they both know he can’t. He presses a kiss against her lips before trying to move away. He’s stopped, held there by hands that splay across his beard, pale blue eyes begging.

He’ll just eat breakfast a little quicker, that’s all.

 

\------

 

It’s an hour later that they’re on the flight deck, a respectable distance between their bodies as they watch Paladin Jones load the beryllium agitator into Liberty Prime and press the button to activate him. The robot kicks into action, metallic voice echoing through the compound as he runs through his objectives.

“Never thought I’d see him in action again,” Arthur says, his voice almost lost to the soldiers’ cheers. Amelia swallows when Prime moves to leave, watches as her fellow soldiers salute him. There’s no stopping him now.

Arthur turns to her once Prime has left the airport, soldiers in power armor loading themselves onto the vertibird docked beside them.

“It’s almost over,” he tells her, resting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her.  
It’s cold on this late February morning, and Amelia wants nothing more to bury her face in Arthur’s chest and soak up his warmth. But instead, she simply nods at his words, still conscious of the eyes around her even though they said they weren’t going to hide anymore.

“Be safe,” is what she offers him. Arthur’s lips curl into a soft smile in reply.

“Always.”

He steps back then, takes ahold of her bare hand in his gloved one and presses a kiss to the back of it, a gesture old even for those of Paladin Jones’s time. She’s brought back to their first night on the Prydwen, when they danced together to Bob Crosby and he kissed her in the same way. That was a beginning. This is an end.

“I love you,” he says once he releases her hand, and Amelia just nods again, breathes in deep.

“I love you too.”

Kells emerges from somewhere behind them, tells the elder that it’s time, that Prime has already made his way to Bunker Hill and Arthur needs to coordinate his arrival with Prime’s at the CIT ruins. He thanks his second-in-command, tries to offer a comforting glance to Amelia after he climbs aboard the vertibird. The scribe watches with sad eyes and a heavy heart, leaning back against the railing when the vertibird starts to depart. Arthur grabs ahold of the handle above him, squares his feet to steady himself, coat billowing in the wind, a man of great stature.

Amelia watches until the vertibird is out of sight, chest tightening more and more the further the vertibird goes. She snaps out of it when Kells clears his throat behind her, turns to acknowledge the lancer-captain.

“Elder Maxson would like you to wait for his return at Mass Fusion,” he commands her. Amelia already knew the plan, but she’s still a little thrown off by how hard he sounds giving the order to her. Kells has never been her biggest fan, not since she was brought onto the council as an advisor for the Prydwen’s construction. She just salutes him feebly in response, ignoring his heavy gaze while she crosses the deck to the last remaining vertibird in port. Proctor Teagan leans up against the vehicle with a cigarette in hand, a paladin and lancer-knight already buckled in, waiting.

Amelia pulls her own pack from her jacket, pulling out a cigarette before she realizes she left her lighter in Arthur’s quarters. Teagan passes her his lighter before she can even ask for it, and she thanks the proctor before lighting up, grateful that someone’s still showing her some humanity.

The two don’t talk again while they smoke, the silence holding until the lancer tells them that it’s time to depart. Teagan stubs out his cigarette out on the railing and flicks it off the deck, climbing into the vertibird immediately after. Amelia puts her own half-finished stick back into her pack before she goes to climb aboard. It’s not until they’re buckled in that Teagan says anything.

“There are worse options for him, I suppose.”

From Teagan, that’s as good of an approval as she’s going to get.

 

\------

 

A flash of light signals Arthur’s arrival atop Mass Fusion almost three hours later. Amelia and the rest of the soldiers scramble to their feet after idling around, snapping back into their assigned roles at the return of their elder.

Paladin Jones appears next to Arthur just a few seconds after the elder steadies himself on his feet. Knight Lucia and a few others follow shortly thereafter; twenty or so of them stand on the roof when all is said and done. The soldiers take a few moments to steady themselves, uneasy after being teleported for the first time.

Teagan informs the elder that all the soldiers have successfully evacuated the premises, that Ingram is back at the airport and Liberty Prime is at a safe enough distance. It’s then that Arthur collects himself fully, stands up straight and motions to device sitting atop a storage crate.

“Paladin, would you do the honors?”

Amelia moves to stand behind Arthur then, makes quick eye contact with Nora before she turns back to look over the balcony. The pre-war woman hesitates a moment longer, hand hovering over the detonator before she presses the button, closes her eyes.

The explosion is so powerful that it nearly knocks Amelia off her feet, would have if not for Arthur’s arms grabbing hold of her, pulling her back against his chest as the cloud expands into the sky. Its reach is high, higher than the building they stand on. Lesser clouds litter the city below them, debris scattering as a result of the plume.

Amelia’s never seen anything like it. It’s simultaneously beautiful and horrifying, a reminder of how the world ended but a promise to make sure it doesn’t happen again. When she looks down, she looks at the crater that once was her home, now smothered in flames, wiped from existence with the excuse of protecting humanity from itself. How many lives were lost, on either side? She doesn’t want to know. Not now, not ever. She’s not sure if she could look Arthur in the eyes if she knew.

The blast stuns her, and she remains wide eyes as the clouds start to dissipate. She can hear Arthur saying her name, but she feels disconnected, like she’s watching it all happen through a foggy glass. It’s not until the soldiers cheer “ad victoriam!” that she snaps out of it.

Arthur turns back to her after congratulating and dismissing the soldiers. She whispers a quiet “ad victoriam” of her own, lips turning up at the corners but not in a smile. The elder glances at those behind them, most of whom have turned away to depart or attend to their duties. Without another moment’s hesitation, he wraps his arms around Amelia’s waist and presses his lips hard against hers.

Amelia clutches at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in search of stability. The kiss is so forceful that she almost topples over, held on place by Arthur’s firm arms and a wobbly leg of her own. After a moment, she closes her eyes, winds her arms around his neck and succumbs to the very public display of affection, their first.

A cheer echoes from somewhere behind them, probably Teagan. At the noise, Amelia breaks the kiss, hides her blushing face in Arthur’s coat while the elder smiles above her, standing tall and proud and completely unashamed of her, of them. It’s a power move and a trophy of victory, claiming her as his in front of everyone, but also an anchor, an assurance that he meant what he said, that he’s ready to take the next step of their relationship.

A few other soldiers holler at the two of them, excited for their elder. A few suggestive phrases are shouted, ones that would get them reprimanded on any other day, but today is a day of celebration, of new beginnings. Rather than chastise, Arthur just laughs at their words, holds Amelia tighter against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair, lips pressing against the strands.

It’s a lot to process; the end of an era, the beginning of another. Her former home, gone from the world. Her new life, built from its ashes. The urge to flee consumes her, to run back to the police station or even to Rivet City and close herself off from Arthur again, from the man who destroyed the last tie she had to her parents.

But she can’t. Running away from her problems is no longer an option. There are duties, responsibilities, expectations of an elder’s suitor, and she’ll be damned if anyone makes her feel undeserving of the role.

When they load into the vertibird to go back to the Prydwen, she takes Arthur’s hand in hers, links their fingers together and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

There’s no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

 

\------

 

That evening is decorated in celebration, liquor cabinets unlocked and all but the unlucky few excused from their duties. Paladins and initiates alike celebrate their victory over the Institute, indulging themselves in vices usually withheld from those on active duty. There’s no need to stand guard, not when Liberty Prime patrols the compound, when their greatest threats have been eliminated. It is the Brotherhood who conquers the wasteland now. They are the champions, the victors, the heroes.

It’s an atmosphere that Amelia has no desire to be a part of. Sure, it’s better that they won than lost, but she can’t help but think about the collateral damage, at how the debris and aftereffects will influence those on the ground, with the increased radiation in the water and the area in general, especially with Diamond City being so close. Maybe the Brotherhood will dispatch some troopers to help with the cleanup. But for tonight, they celebrate without regard for those caught in the aftermath and Amelia wants no part of it.

She tries to blend into the background, hovering against the wall with a glass of wine in hand. All she wants is to inch her way back to Arthur’s quarters, pull the pillow over her head and sleep until this is all over, until they can go home to Adams and she can pretend like none of this ever happened. Pretend that the man she loves isn’t a warmonger.

It’s difficult to disappear, though, when her name is on everyone’s lips. Even though there were only a couple dozen of them at Mass Fusion and even less in the mess deck last night, word has spread quickly, almost too quickly. But the elder finding a suitor is a big deal, she supposes. There are just a few people that she wishes they could have kept this from for the time being, but there are no secrets in the Brotherhood. At least not now.

Most people seem happy for them, or if not happy than at least indifferent, unconcerned with who their elder is shacking it up and more concerned with why. Conversations litter the air, discussions about weddings, children, the continuation of the Maxson line. Their words make Amelia uneasy, but it’s the less than friendly conversations that make her stomach churn.

The contempt mostly comes from the girls around her age, the prime candidates for the elder’s partner. The ones on Quinlan’s list that he’s always trying to force on Arthur. Amelia would be lying if she didn’t expect ugliness, after the way they all talk about him in private, but she’s still unsettled by their words, especially what’s said by the girls that she considered to be on good terms with.

Her favorite theory is that it was all a one-off thing, that Arthur only brought her back to his quarters last night to use her before going off to battle. Or that the kiss on Mass Fusion was fueled by adrenaline and Amelia was the closest female to him, and that’s why it happened. Those theories don’t bother her too much, because if she’s confident in anything, it’s how Arthur feels about her. Plus, unbeknownst to them, she holds the trophy of Arthur’s first time. And that’s not something the elder would have just given away to a one night stand.

Others say she isn’t worthy, that she’s too bland, too ordinary, too vanilla for someone of Arthur’s stature. That he should be with a soldier, not a part-time engineer who spends most of her days with her nose in books. They’re the same things that Amelia tried to tell Arthur all those months ago, what she tried to tell him the other night when he was begging her forgiveness. Hearing them from other people, though, it’s a little upsetting, a little too much of a confirmation of her insecurities than she wanted.

Disgruntled, Amelia pulls herself off the wall and heads towards the makeshift bar, an ache in her bones for something stronger, something to put her thoughts at bay.

She wraps her fingers around a chilled bottle of whiskey, debates between putting some in a glass and taking the whole thing when a gloved hand wraps around hers, a warm body pressing against her back.

“Hey,” is how he greets her, nothing exuberant. No formality, no romance. Just a simple acknowledgment. Amelia’s simultaneously thankful and disappointed.

She leans back into his chest as his other arm wraps around her waist, his lips pressing softly against the back of her neck. It’s weird, being openly affectionate like this, but she’s also appreciative of it, of how Arthur’s openly acknowledging them. It’ll put to bed the theories of the one-off thing, at least, if not the other hateful words. Amelia grabs the whiskey off the counter then, turning around in Arthur’s arms and pressing a sturdy kiss to his lips.

“Where have you been?” she asks, taking a sip of the whiskey once they pull apart.

“Kells and I pulled together a response team to head to the ground and check for survivors,” he explains, grabbing the bottle out of her hands and gulping it down. “There’s another team going to Diamond City, to relay the news and give any required aid. All volunteers. We should’ve done it right after the blast, but everything happened so quickly…”

Amelia hums impassively in response, but a heavy weight is lifted off her chest. The Brotherhood’s concerns may not be focused primarily on civilians, but they still shouldn’t be negated. She’s happy to hear that some of her brothers and sisters have volunteered their services to those on the ground, that Arthur organized such a measure. There’s also a little disappointment seeping through, remorse for not being able to join them.

“There was, uh, another thing,” Arthur says sheepishly, arm rubbing over the back of his neck like he always does when he’s timid about his next words. Amelia just lives a noncommittal eyebrow, feigning indifference when her heartbeat’s accelerated twofold. “Quinlan, he, well, he questioned me. About you – us.”

The proctor’s been a thorn in Arthur’s side since becoming elder, always pressuring him to find a suitable woman, so Amelia can only imagine what colorful words he had about Arthur’s choice. Even though Amelia’s one of his best scribes, has been since she first joined up, he still doesn’t like her. Come to think of it, Quinlan probably doesn’t like anyone. Except maybe Arthur, and only then it’s more hero worship than anything.

Amelia doesn’t voice any of that, though, instead drawing the bottle back to her lips and motioning with her hand for Arthur to continue.

“He, well, let’s just say you weren’t on any of the _lists_ he made for me. But you know that I don’t care what he thinks,” he informs her, and Amelia just sighs a bit and leans further into the counter. “I have to disclose our relationship to Lost Hills, and as soon as I tell them we’re together then, well, that’s it. They’re going to expect us to get married, have kids, the whole deal.”

Even though Amelia knew this day was coming, it still knocks the breath out of her, and she takes another swig of the whiskey for good measure. Maybe this conversation will be easier with more alcohol in her veins.

She chooses to remain silent because she can tell Arthur’s not finished, that he’s trying to find the words to explain the situation properly. It allows her a moment of reflection, of panic at the idea of marrying, trying for kids when they’re both still kids themselves.

“It’s what I told you all those months ago before Danse left. I don’t want to drag you into this. I can hold them off for a while, but I know the longer we wait the more insistent they’ll become.” Arthur extends his hand to rest on her hip, and she’s suddenly aware of the fact that they’re having a very important, very _personal_ conversation in an extremely public place, soldiers sliding by them to grab drinks off the bar in a steady stream.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here,” she says, and Arthur shakes his head, digs his fingers into her hip a little deeper to hold her in place. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more respective of the conversation.

“I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I want, I want you to choose me, Amelia, because the last thing I want to be is a burden to you. I don’t, I don’t-”

Amelia rolls her eyes and cuts him off by crashing her lips against his, whiskey sloshing out of the bottle and onto the back of his coat when she throws her arms around his neck. Arthur stills for a split second before pressing back with equal fervor, hands pressing her hips against the counter, closing the distance between them.

Someone whoops from behind them, and if that keeps happening then Amelia swears to god that she’s going to assign everyone who makes a peep to scrubbing super mutant gunk off vertibirds as soon as she has the power to. For now, she waves a dismissive hand towards the voice, uncharacteristically brash as she flicks her tongue against Arthur’s teeth. She can hear almost everyone in their general vicinity laughing at her gesture, but she pays them no mind until Arthur breaks the kiss, red tinting his cheeks as he chuckles at her intrepidness. Amelia just smiles, stretches up on her toes to press her forehead against his.

“I’ll always choose you, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started off super short and then just built and built. But the next one is even longer, and then there's one more and an epilogue and we're done. Thanks for reading!


	18. More Than Just Enough

When Amelia wakes up the next morning in Arthur’s quarters, the elder is still fast asleep, and it takes everything within her not to kiss him awake. She has a plan and the less resistance she meets, the better.

Her uniform is a wrinkled mess at the foot of the bed, and she unfurls it with a sigh, laying it over one of the chairs at the center table before pulling out some sweatpants and one of Arthur’s t-shirts from the dresser. She dresses and leaves the room quietly, glancing back at Arthur one more time before she closes the door behind her.

It’s a few minutes later that she heads to the flight deck, requesting for the lancer to fly her to Diamond City. The pilot doesn’t ask any questions, to Amelia’s surprise, and she can’t help but feel a little smug at the power that she now holds, even if she didn’t really want it in the first place.

 

 

\------

 

When they touch down just outside of Diamond City a little while later, Amelia passes the pilot a few caps in gratitude for her compliance, hoists her backpack a little higher on her shoulders before deplaning. The touchdown is only a couple blocks from the outer city gates, but Amelia still takes out her trusty ten-mil, checks and double checks corners and alleyways on her journey. She reaches the city without incident, the perimeter guards simply nodding at her in welcome when they see her Brotherhood uniform.

The volunteer squad Arthur dispatched last night is set up just in front of the city’s gates, sleeping bags and chairs with slumped bodies scattered around a copper statue. Amelia waves at Paladin Elbert as she approaches, goes to talk to her before she hears her name being called. Haylen is the one yelling for her, waving her over enthusiastically. Amelia smiles softly, walks over to where the field scribe is setting up a Rad-Away drip for a tired, middle-aged man.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, and Amelia sort of shrugs, sets her pack on the ground before cleaning off her hands.

“Didn’t really wanna be on the Prydwen right now,” Amelia says, and Haylen looks at her sadly.

“Are you and elder-man okay?” she prods, and Amelia shakes her head, a smile on her face when Haylen motions for her to take over holding the man’s Rad-Away bag.

“Nothing like that. I just needed to get away, I guess. Got a little too claustrophobic.”

Haylen just hums in acknowledgement, excuses herself after a moment when an initiate calls for her. The tired man looks up at Amelia once Haylen leaves, his eyebrows knotting together in displeasure.

“Who are you?” he asks, and Amelia smiles, tries to be welcoming as she introduces herself, but she’s interrupted before the words even leave her mouth. “No, nevermind. I don’t really care, unless you’re in charge.”

“The woman who just left is in charge of this operation, if that’s…”

“No, no. I want to know who the head honcho is. You know, the one who’s in charge of blasting the Institute to hell without checking for civilians?”

Amelia’s taken aback by his bluntness, so out of place when they’ve barely been introduced. Her heart pangs at his words and even though she wasn’t directly involved in the Institute’s destruction she feels the guilt seeping into her bones. That’s one of the faults of the Brotherhood: getting in and out without stopping to think about who could be affected by their actions, a habit left over from the west coast’s ideals, even though they’re supposed to be more progressive out here. She can’t help but wonder how many civilian casualties there were. There are at least thirty people gathered out here with varying ailments; what about those who couldn’t make it to Diamond City?

“I’m sorry,” is all she can offer, reaching down to adjust the needle in his arm. He pulls away from her touch and Amelia steps back, bites on the inside of her cheek as she deliberates what to do with this man. He opens his mouth again before she can plan a course of action.

“This how it’s gonna be then? You _'men of steel'_ come in, do whatever you want and then offer medical care as some sort of apology? You made a mini-glow in the middle of Cambridge and didn’t even worry how the rads will affect us on the ground, too high up in your flying bullshit to care.”

“The Institute had to be stopped,” Amelia responds quickly and surely, her voice tight at his rudeness, especially when he scoffs at her answer. It’s not until the words leave her lips that she realizes that she means them, that there was no diplomatic option, no matter how much she wished there could’ve been. “Should we have handled the civilian situation better? Yes. We made some costly mistakes. We will learn from them, going forward. But we do not regret them. There are casualties in war, and if we let the Institute continue to rage against the Commonwealth, there would have been many more. And we couldn’t have let the facility be, it had to be destroyed. So long as it continued to exist, people would have continued to wage war over its control. What we did was right. Costly, but the right thing to do. Now we’re trying to fix our mistakes. We’re trying to do right by people like you. Now let me help you.”

The man’s eyes widen, and Amelia doesn’t spare him another glance, just fixes the needle in his arm and puts two fingers to his pulse to measure it, professionally detached from the situation.

The words she just told this man, they’re not something she ever thought she’d feel, let alone admit aloud. But she knows that every word was the honest truth. She understands why Arthur had to do what he did, why they couldn’t keep the facility operational. The civilian issue is definitely cause for concern, but that’s why they’re here, to fix things. To get the Commonwealth on their side.

“What did you say your name was?” the man asks again, and Amelia’s takes a deep breath, plastering a faux-pleasant smile on her face before she speaks.

“Senior Scribe Dirthe. But you can call me Amelia.”

“Names Lucas. Lucas Miller. Amelia, huh? You said you was a _senior_ scribe? Does that mean you’re an officer?”

Amelia shakes her head softly, removes the IV from Lucas’s arm and places a tight bandage over it. That’s about all her medical training right there, wrapped in a little package and given to this man in front of her.

“She _should_ be an officer. Maybe then we’d actually get some shit done,” Haylen pitches when she approaches the two of them to check in on Lucas. He’s all good to go though, and Haylen just clasps a hand on Amelia’s shoulder in gratitude, smiling all the while.

“That’s a shame. But if you guys have people like her running ‘bout, then you’ll do alright out here. Am I cleared to go?” Lucas speaks, smiling up at the young women in front of him. Amelia smiles softly at his kind words and tells him that he’s fine to go. “Do I owe you guys anythin’?”

The senior scribe looks to Haylen for advisement, and Haylen just shakes her head.

“Nope. Services are free for anyone displaced by the blast. You run a caravan, right? Mind passing that around your circles?”

“Will do, ma’am. Thank you for your help.”

Lucas shakes both of their hands before he crosses over to a couple of waiting men and a tied up brahmin.

“Me as an officer, huh? You think I’d actually be any good at running the show?” Amelia jabs at Haylen, a playful smile on her face when Haylen merely shrugs.

“Please. You already boss Maxson around. I mean, you’ve been on his council before which is pretty much an officer’s job. Plus, if you wanted anything, you know he’d bend over backwards for you, even if it was an officer’s spot.”

“It’s not – it’s not like that,” she explains. Her eyes narrow slightly when she notices that another scribe is listening in on their conversation, tries to subtly tell Haylen to lower her voice. Haylen just laughs, and Amelia tugs her a little off the ways to try again. “You can’t say stuff like that Haylen. I know you’re joking, but I don’t want people thinking that my relationship with Arthur is some sort of power play, you know?”

“Yeah, sorry. My bad,” Haylen apologizes, and Amelia smiles softly in thanks. “But seriously. Can you ask Maxson if he’ll _consider_ changing the scribes uniforms? These pockets aren’t doing my figure any favors.”

“I hate you.”

 

\------

 

Arthur doesn’t know where Amelia is when he wakes up. He spends the whole day worrying, trying to subtly ask for her whereabouts without it making a big deal out of it. Doesn’t find out until late that night, when a few members of the response team return to the Prydwen for supplies and pass him a folded piece of paper with his name scrawled on the outside. The note is from Amelia, telling him that she left for Diamond City to aid the response team, that she’s sorry for not saying goodbye and not to worry, she’s not running this time. She’s just trying to do her part in the recovery. She says Haylen’s calling her “the diplomat” for the way she interacts with the citizens, explaining to them who exactly the Brotherhood of Steel are, why they destroyed the Institute and what their victory means for the Commonwealth’s future. It’s the perfect place for her; she’s always had better interpersonal skills than Arthur, who’s better at intimidation than diplomacy.

The letters keep coming; when the resupply teams board the Prydwen every other day, one of the knights is tasked with passing the letters onto Arthur before they grab what they need, taking Arthur’s response back with them when they depart. Amelia keeps him updated, tells him that she’s safe, that she’s in good hands, that she loves him. Says that people are coming around, that them being on the ground and interacting directly is really helping establish trust. The settlers now have faces instead of just a name and metal masks, and there are even a few who wish to join their ranks, scavengers and caravaners and even a few escaped Institute civilians. Paladin Elbert is focusing on recruitment and Nora is in talks with the city’s acting mayor to set up a sort of embassy for them in Diamond City, in a house that she bought but never uses.

When he put Haylen in charge of the response team, he suspected her to administer aid to civilians and then return home in a few days. She, Nora, Amelia and Laura have gone above and beyond what he expected of them, and he sends a note back to her that tells her that he approves of everything that they’re doing, that he’s more than proud of her for taking the initiative.

Arthur signs his letters with _"I love you. I miss you. Come back soon."_ and makes sure to seal them extra tight.

Weeks go by, both of them still dealing with the aftermath. On the Prydwen, Arthur approves various experiments and requisitions, reading through different peoples’ reports from the battle and seeing what they managed to scavenge. It’s a shame they didn’t have more time to gather samples of their tech, but they’ve got all the data for building the purifiers and most of the other machines, just not the resources. They even managed a few samples of plant life, which Amelia expresses her excitement for when he informs her of their existence.

Amelia helps set up the embassy, spends her nights cooped up with the other soldiers in a house in the west stands that Nora said belonged to an old mercenary who has since been dealt with. It’s not quite big enough to hold the dozen of them, so the women are allotted the house while the men stay at the Dugout Inn, Amelia having worked out an extended discount deal with the Bobrov’s in order to minimize cost. She writes to remind him that her birthday’s in a few days, that she’d love for him to come out here and see what they’ve built. Maybe they can have dinner at the bar, get a nice quiet, private room for themselves.

Arthur tells her that things are much too busy, that there’s no way he can get away for the day, that he’s sorry for having to miss her birthday. It’s all a ruse; of course Arthur’s going to be there. He’s already thinking of the best way to surprise her.

 

\------

 

It’s almost three weeks after the Institute’s destruction that Proctor Ingram approaches Arthur on the command deck with a personal request: she wants to retire. The war against the Institute just proved to her that she’s not as ductile as she thought she was. Her bones ache and she’s tired. It pains her to let go but she knows she’s got to move on, has to do what’s best for her personal health.

“What will you do?” Arthur asks her. Ingram’s a wonderful soldier, of course, but he’s always held the woman in high regards even outside of her rank. If she says that she’s done, then Arthur isn’t going to stop her.

“I’m going to go back to the Capital Wasteland. Madison said Rivet City’s always looking for engineers, and that way I can be a short hop away from the Citadel if I’m needed. Try not to need me though, yeah?”

Arthur chuckles at the proctor’s words, extends his hand to shake hers. He lays his other one on top, a personal touch.

“You’re always welcome in the Brotherhood.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she responds, smiling down at the elder. What a man he’s become. “About my successor…”

The elder quirks an eyebrow, leans on the railing behind him.

“You have someone lined up already?”

“Yes. I want Dirthe – Amelia – to replace me. She’s not the best engineer, but I’ve got people trained for that. You know that she’s smart. She understands division of labor, knows how to maximize peoples’ strengths. The scribes all respect her, and-”

“You don’t have to attest to her strengths, Ingram. I’m more than aware of Amelia’s accomplishments,” Arthurs interrupts, but his words are playful, lighthearted. Even if they weren’t together, it’s who he would have suggested.

“I know, sir, I just wanted to make my case, like I would with anyone. Don’t want the others thinking she’s getting special treatment.” Ingram responds, finishing with a cleverly placed wink. “We’ll have to bring it before the council, of course. Sooner, rather than later. If they reject her I’d like to be able to come up with a backup plan before I step out.”

“How much longer do you plan on staying?”

“At least until the end of the month. By then, I think most of the Institute stuff will be dealt with, and I’ll be able to train up some of the scribes so they can manage the Prydwen’s repairs and what not.”

“I can have the council assembled by lunch time. Would that work for you, Proctor?”

“Like I said, the sooner the better, sir.”

  

\------

 

Arthur assembles the council easily enough, the six of them meeting on the command deck. It was a quick arrangement and they’re sitting on couches instead of in chairs around a table, but it’ll do. There haven’t been many council meetings since coming to the Commonwealth, most business being attended to through the internal mail system than face to face.

“I’m going to let Proctor Ingram take the lead on this meeting. Proctor,” the elder starts, motioning for Ingram to have the floor.

“Elder Maxson’s approved my request for retirement. I’m old and tired and everything that I’ve been doing can be done by people much more flexible than me. I want to advocate for Senior Scribe Dirthe as my replacement. I don’t just think that she’s the best option, I think she’s the only option.”

The proctor goes on to explain why, supports her decision with all the reasons she tried to give Arthur earlier. He listens intently, even though his mind is made up. But he’s still fascinated by how highly Ingram speaks of her, at just how many things Amelia has accomplished in nearly six years with the Brotherhood. Proctor positions are usually reserved for more senior members, but Amelia’s accomplished more in those few years than many have in twenty. From the acquisition of Rivet City’s reactor to her recent work on the embassy, Amelia’s been acting as their ambassador for longer than Arthur realized.

When he thinks about it, the position of proctor wouldn’t really fit Amelia. She’d be too confined to the Prydwen to do what she’s best at. But that’s what Ingram was saying, about training other people to be better engineers. Amelia’s got the brain to be a proctor, if not the applied skills. If Proctor Ingram believes her to be the best suited replacement, than Arthur is not going to argue.

Once Ingram’s made her case, Arthur calls for a vote. He excuses himself from the count, not only because they’re at an even number, but also because he recognizes it as a conflict of interest and wants his council to see that he’s remaining impartial, going through the motions even for the woman he loves.

Ingram votes first, an obvious yes. It’s alphabetical form there, Cade going next.

“I vote yes. Proctor Ingram knows her post the best, and if she thinks Dirthe is the best suited for the job then I will not argue against her.”

Arthur takes the initiative to record the meeting, scribbling down Cade’s vote and his reasoning on the official document in front of him. Kells is the next to speak:

“Absolutely not. This is an extreme conflict of interest, bordering on nepotism. Dirthe may be an exceptional scribe, but promoting her after revealing your relationship will not bode well for her. I don’t think she will be able to procure the respect needed to hold such a position, based on that.”

“It’s not nepotism, I’m the one who suggested her, not Arthur,” Ingram interjects. Arthur puts a hand up to silence her, the proctor huffing and glaring at Kells, who remains stoic. The elder is a little frustrated by Kells’s words too, how the lancer-captain is always trying to undermine him in the littlest ways, but he must remain impartial in this situation.

“Captain Kells is entitled to his opinion, proctor,” Arthur responds, scribbling down a few things on the paper in front of him. “Proctor Quinlan, how do you cast your vote?”

“I vote no as well, sir. Dirthe is a valuable asset indeed, but as and elder you cannot personal feelings influence major decisions like this,” Quinlan turns his nose up. “She would be much better suited for a role under the Quill than under the Shield. Perhaps if we revisit this in the future I would elect for her to succeed me. But not with her also being the elder’s consort.”

Ingram huffs again, and Arthur can almost hear her eye roll from where he sits across the table, still jotting down notes for the official record. The word consort makes him feel a little uneasy, but it’s Quinlan: he’s always made Arthur out to be something greater than what he is.

“Proctor Teagan, how do you cast your vote?” Arthur asks. The unruly proctor’s decision will be the final one, and Arthur realizes he has absolutely no idea of what Teagan thinks of Amelia.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s a conflict of interest. Ingram’s made it clear as day that she’d be considering Dirthe even if she wasn’t shacking it up with mister elder man. So I vote yes. Make sure to pass my congratulations onto your girl next time you see her, if you aren’t otherwise, y’know, _preoccupied._ ”

“That will be all, Proctor, thank you,” Arthur stops him, trying his hardest not to blush at the jest. “The yeses have it. I will inform Senior Scribe Dirthe of our decision when she returns from Diamond City. This meeting is concluded and you are all dismissed. Thank you.”

The councilmembers get up to leave, Teagan clapping Arthur on the back and smirking at him before he departs. Ingram is the only one who lingers, twiddling her thumbs as she waits for the others to clear out.

“What will we do if Amelia doesn’t accept?” Ingram asks. She almost sounds nervous.

“I doubt she will. Like you said, she’s more than suited for the role. And I’ll just persuade her, if she has doubts.” He realizes quickly that he left the last words more than open for innuendo. Ingram noticed it too, and she smirks suggestively at him before laughing and extending a hand to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s about time you two got together. Though, it’s not like you guys have been all that great at hiding it, anyway.”

“You knew?” Arthur asks, a little uneasy at the prospect.

“Not that you two were actually together, but I saw the way you guys looked at each other, even before you became elder. You took your damn time, that’s for sure. You sure she’s the one you want to bring into all of this?”

“There’s no one else that I can imagine being with. She’s always been the only one,” Arthur affirms, and he scrunches up his nose, debating his next words before he speaks them. This is Ingram, though, he can trust her with this secret. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Shit, yeah?" Ingram responds excitedly, eyes lighting up at the prospect. "I mean, it’s a long time coming for sure, but so soon after you guys went public?”

“Amelia and I’s relationship is much deeper than what it appears on the surface. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, but I didn’t want to just spring it on the council or Lost Hills without them even knowing that we were involved. Whether it is too soon in the eyes of my soldiers does not matter to me. The timing for us is perfect – tomorrow is Amelia’s birthday and I’m going to Diamond City to surprise her. I plan to ask her then.”

“It sounds like you’ve got it all planned out then, so don’t let an old hag like me stop you. You got a ring and everything?”

Arthur nods, pulls out a small sack from his pocket and grabs the ring between his fingers to show the proctor. It was his mother’s, but its history spans back at least a couple generations down the Maxson line, if not more. Arthur dug it out of his safe a few weeks back with plans to shine it up, put it in one of those old velvety boxes before he proposes. He wants to make this as special as possible for Amelia. She deserves nothing less.

“Wow, that’s a beauty. Family heirloom?” Ingram asks, and Arthur nods again in response. “Even though I’m retiring, I better get an invite to the wedding, alright?”

“You can sit in the front row,” Arthur affirms jokingly, though he’s partially serious. Ingram’s always been more like family to him, ever since her accident and the time they spent together in the infirmary. “She takes after you a bit, I think. Always trying to do something reckless or against my better judgment.”

The proctor laughs at the elder’s words, smiling down at Arthur as he tucks the ring back into his pocket.

“Then she’ll be perfect for the position. And not using me for field work was a waste of my talents,” Ingram states matter-of-factly. Arthur can’t help but laugh at her cheekiness. “You turned out alright, Arthur. Still a bit of a brat, but what you’ve done for the Brotherhood in the past couple years is remarkable. You’ll make something of this world yet.”

Arthur only hopes that he can continue to make her proud.

 

\------

 

Early next morning, Arthur leaves for Diamond City with a bouquet of assorted flowers tied together and tucked safely under his jacket, the other surprise sitting in a recently acquired box in his pocket. He feels a little ridiculous with the gifts, but it _is_ Amelia’s birthday; he hasn’t seen her in nearly a month so he wants to do something special for their reunion. She deserves so much more than some mutated flowers, though. Arthur wishes he could give her the moon.

He’s planned the surprise with the help of Sentinel Jones, arranging for Amelia to be stationed alone in the embassy around the time of his arrival. Walking into Diamond City with Star Paladins Gates and Ruiz behind him in full power armor feels a little pompous, especially when he sees the Brotherhood flag billowing in the wind just inside the gate. Nora greets him at the entrance to the marketplace, points him in the direction of the embassy. Not that Arthur would need help seeing it; not only is there a huge orange flag hung on the outside, there are also bright neon lights spelling out in capital letters “BOS Embassy” next to a stationery set of Brotherhood power armor. Arthur’s pretty sure it’s Sentinel Jones’s old suit, the one that belonged to Danse. His heart pangs at the thought.

Arthur dismisses his escorts, refers them to Sentinel Jones for assignment while they’re in the city. He approaches the embassy alone and uninterrupted, though he can hear the whispers that follow him the further he separates himself from the others. The scar and coat make him easily recognizable, and he hears people discussing the rumors that define him while he stalks forward. Word about him has spread easily now that the Brotherhood is in charge, now that these people are informally under his protection.

When he finally enters the embassy, he tries to keep quiet, but the squeaking of the door more than gives him away, though no one calls out to him. He takes notice of the desk in the middle, couches pushed up against walls in a makeshift reception area. There’s a curtain separating one part from the next, and Arthur pushes it aside to see another bunch of desks placed orderly in the space. Amelia’s perched on a balcony above them, hunched over and scribbling away at something in a folder.

She doesn’t notice him right away, and Arthur takes the moment to watch her, watch the way her fading red hair curtains around her face. The clothes she wears are not of Brotherhood origin; a denim button down hangs loosely off her frame, too-big black pants rolled up to her mid-shin. Even like this she looks so beautiful.

Arthur can’t wait any longer, and he moves fully around the corner, pulls the flowers out of his jacket. He considers pulling out the box too, getting down on one knee and making their reunion an even grander one. The timing doesn’t feel right, though, and he clears his throat to get her attention with the box still tucked safely in his pocket. The noise catches her off guard, but the shock on her face quickly flicks to elation when she sees Arthur standing below, smiling softly up at her.

“Happy birthday,” he says almost shyly. Amelia nearly squeals, throws herself down the stairs until she’s crashing against Arthur’s chest, arms wrapped tight around his chest as she hugs him.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, not daring to pull back just yet. It’s been almost a month. She never intended to be gone for so long.

“You really think that I’d miss your birthday?”

“I just… you said you were busy. You lied to me!” Amelia pulls back then, pointing an accusatory finger at the elder in jest.

Arthur overdramatically rolls his eyes in return, wraps the arm not holding the flowers around her waist and pulls her back into him. He follows the action with a feverish kiss. It really has been too long. He sets the bouquet on one of the nearby desks after a moment, uses his other arm to hoist Amelia up onto his waist, presses her back against the wall and chases her lips when she tries to speak.

“Slow down,” she whispers when his hands start to grope at her ass, affection giving way to desperation as he trails his lips to her jaw, her neck, bites at the collar of her shirt. Amelia cups Arthur’s face in her hands, runs her fingertips through his freshly trimmed beard in an attempt to calm him down. “We have all day.”

Arthur chuckles in response, closes the distance between their lips once more before he sets her back down on the ground.

“It’s your birthday. You’re in charge.”

 

\------

 

Amelia gives him a full tour of the city, introduces him to a couple of the shopkeepers and the guards that she’s become familiar with. Their fingers wind together while they walk around, even when Amelia introduces him to everyone as _Elder_ Maxson. The woman in charge of the paper – Piper, maybe? – even points out that they’re a cute couple, which brings out a blush from both of them.

With her tugging him around like this, Arthur almost feels like Amelia’s the one running the organization and he’s just along for the ride. It’s nice, giving over some of his power, especially to someone he trusts so extensively. Plus Amelia is better with these people than he could ever hope to be.

The evening goes by mostly interrupted by Brotherhood personal, their only disturbance occurring when they run into Laura and another knight on their way to dinner It’s a quick exchange, the paladin just asking Arthur how he’s liking the city before they salute him and go on their way. It’s a little weird to be saluted here of all places, where he feels least like a leader, when Amelia’s the one calling the shots. Some part of him is more than aware that Amelia’s actions are directly undermining his authority, but Amelia’s not power hungry or trying to steal his elder position from him, so Arthur puts those thoughts at bay. She’s just showing the man she loves what she’s built, what she’s passionate about.

They have dinner on the deck outside the Colonial Taphouse, waited on by a Mister Handy named Wellingham who seems much too enthusiastic to attend to the every whim of his _esteemed_ guests. Their table overlooks the city, and Arthur can’t help but gaze out at it while Amelia tells him the story of her interaction with Lucas Miller. The city is magnificent, in its own way, but it’s also rather sad, how these people seek protection from the horrors of the wasteland in an old baseball stadium, of all places.

“It’s sort of tragically beautiful, isn’t it?” Amelia says after a while, once she realizes that Arthur’s no longer paying attention to her story.

The elder turns back to her, a distant look in his eyes until he realizes that she’s addressing him directly. He snaps out of whatever stupor he was in, smiles apologetically at her for not paying closer attention.

“It’s just odd, how this is considered a city nowadays,” Arthur bemuses. “A bunch of people in a stadium, when the whole area this side of the river used to be a city. They shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“But that’s what we’re trying to do, yeah? Protect people, cleanse the wastes so they don’t have to live in fear?” Amelia asks with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Protecting the wasteland isn’t in the Codex, but she likes to think that it has become part of the Brotherhood’s responsibilities.

“Progress, yes. Move forward, develop new technologies instead of just hoarding the old. It’s not what Lost Hills wants us to do, but I think in the past couple decades our brothers have come around to the idea. Protecting, instead of stealing. Not to the extent of Elder Lyons, with escorting caravans and freely giving away supplies, of course.”

“I think he’d be proud of you, though, with what you’ve done for the Brotherhood,” Amelia responds, laying her hand on top of his. “You’re embodying a lot of what he wanted, but you’ve got the Brotherhood on your side this time. This time, it’s Lost Hills who needs to change, not you.”

Arthur sighs, laces his fingers between hers and looks out over the city again. He didn’t mean for the conversation to turn so melancholic, not on a day they should be celebrating.

Being out like this, leaving the confines of the Prydwen and experiencing life on the ground is not doing well for Arthur’s nerves. It’s not so much that he feels unsafe, more that he feels out of place, almost guilty for the way these people live when he’s got the constant luxury of clean water, a warm bed and nearly unrestricted access to food. Arthur’s never had to farm for his next meal or wait for an available shower, never had to worry about receiving the medical care he needs or if super mutants will eat him in his sleep. He’s lived in fortresses his whole life, and even when he used to go out on regular missions he was always surrounded by highly trained, highly equipped soldiers whose duty it was to protect him – protect his name, his legacy.

“I wonder if I would have still been successful if I weren’t a Maxson. I doubt I could conjure up as much respect had it not already been established over centuries,” Arthur explains. As much as he’s trying not to be the focus of the night, he can’t help it. Luckily, Amelia is more than understanding, just smiles delicately at him, her other hand coming to clasp over their joined ones.

“Your family name definitely played a role, yes, but you’ve moved beyond it. If you had limited yourself to doing what your ancestors did, the Brotherhood never would have progressed. We’d still be stealing laser rifles from caravan guards. You’re the one calling the shots out here, not Lost Hills or Kells or Ingram or anyone else. You’re the one overseeing all of this, making a difference for people like this. People like me. I don’t know where I’d be without the Brotherhood.”

“I don’t know where I’d be without you,” Arthur says before he can really think about his words. He blushes slightly at the confession, even though it’s not really a big deal; Amelia’s his world, his better half. If it weren’t for her, he doesn’t know if he’d be as level-minded or considerate as he’s grown to be.

“I’m sorry I brought this all up,” he says a little later, trying to change the subject, but Amelia shakes her head, squeezes his fingers softly. The box still sitting in his pocket seems heavier now, but now isn’t the right time, not after such a downhearted conversation.

“Don’t be. It’s nice to see inside of that big head of yours,” Amelia jokes, and Arthur returns her smile wholeheartedly.

Their food arrives shortly after, Wellingham producing the finest brahmin steak that the kitchen could muster for Amelia and some equally appetizing radstag for Arthur. It’s remarkably delicious, above Arthur’s expectations for a wasteland kitchen, and he realizes that he needs to stop doubting these peoples’ ingenuity. Underestimating them will only hinder the Brotherhood’s progress.

“Speaking of Ingram...” Arthur starts, trailing off as he deliberates whether or not this is the best time to bring it up. It _is_ Amelia’s birthday. She deserves a bit of good news.

Amelia quirks her eyebrow, unable to respond due to the too-big bite of steak in her mouth. Arthur can’t help but laugh at the way her cheeks puff out, her table manners always so graceful.

“She’s retiring soon,” Arthur explains, and Amelia’s eyes shoot wide in surprise.

“Really? Figured she’d stick around ‘til her heart gave out.”

“Me too. But she says that everything’s getting too painful. Plus, I’d imagine it’s hard to do her job with such limited mobility.”

“That never stopped her before. But I would imagine being confined to a power armor frame twenty-four-seven isn’t really pleasurable,” Amelia considers, taking a sip of her wine before continuing. “Do you know who’s gonna replace her yet?”

“She already named someone. The council got together yesterday and approved them, so it’s just a matter of them accepting the position,” he explains, trying hard to keep up the casual façade and not ruin the surprise.

“Oh? Who?” Amelia asks, genuinely interested. Whoever’s appointed is essentially her boss, so she’s justifiably curious.

“You.”

Amelia nearly chokes on her food, and Arthur could almost laugh at how cliché it is, springing a life-changing surprise onto her over dinner on her birthday. But this is his gift, though he didn’t do much to bring about its existence. He’d like to think that it’s better than the flowers wilting away in her room.

“ _Why?_ I’m barely even an engineer, let alone the best one. Plus, I’ve only been in the Brotherhood for like, six years! Not even that long. Did you set this up? So that I’d be closer in rank to you and our relationship wouldn’t be so inappropriate?”

She’s just spouting words now, arms flailing as she rants on about how Arthur can’t let their relationship influence decisions like this, how she’s definitely not suited to take on a job as head engineer. It’s everything that Quinlan and Kells said the day before, when they voted against her, but coming from her mouth now. Arthur reaches across the table and takes her hands in his grasp in an attempt to stop her thrashing. Wellingham is staring.

“I had nothing to do with it, I promise. I didn’t even vote,” he clarifies. Amelia relaxes her hands, still looking dumbfounded by the prospect. “Ingram came to me yesterday and said she wanted you to replace her. She made her case to both me and to the council, who voted three-to-two in your favor. That’s why you’re being offered the position. Not because we’re…”

He trails off the last part, because he still doesn’t know what to label them as. Calling her his girlfriend seems too trivial. Saying she’s his partner is too informal. She’s so much more than what those labels entail.

“You’ve done nothing but prove yourself over the years. And the work that you’ve done here in the last month alone, just getting the people on our side, it’s more valuable than brewing more coolant for the reactor. There are people who can do the hands on stuff. You, you’re a planner, a leader. _That’s_ why Ingram wants you to replace her, why I even considered it in the first place.”

“I, I didn’t think Ingram held me in such high esteem, if we’re being honest. But… I don’t know. I don’t know if people will respect me, being promoted now after they all know about us.”

“You’re one of the most well respected scribes in the Brotherhood. You have been since you joined up. Anyone who has ever seen you work knows that you work hard for everything you’ve been given. Please, consider it?”

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right,” Amelia sighs, brushing off his flattery. She stares at her plate where her food is getting old, cuts off another piece of steak and starts chewing before she speaks again, good-mannered as always. “Do you really want me on your council when you know that I’m not like, one-hundred-percent sold on the Brotherhood? I mean, you know how I feel about most of this stuff, and I know it doesn’t matter in terms of our personal relationship, but someone who holds a position of power like that should be dedicated, you know?”

“But if you have that power, you have an opportunity to change things. You’ll have a say in how we get things done, like you did when we were working on the Prydwen, but this time you’ll be able to vote instead of just advising.”

It’s a little too much political talk when they should be considering brighter subjects, but the night’s still young and they’ve got a room at the Dugout Inn all to themselves for later. Arthur just wants her to say yes so they can move onto the more entertaining part of the night.

“There would have to be like, clear lines drawn, between council stuff and like, our couple stuff. And I want to be able to still do stuff like this, ‘diplomacy’ or whatever. I’m good at this. I’m not so good at fixing vertibirds.”

“Of course,” he tells her. They’re bending the rules a bit, and he’ll have to get a confirmation with Ingram on what Amelia’s responsible for and what she’s allowed to do, but he thinks her requests are within reason.

“Then yeah, count me in.”

 

\------

 

Arthur whisks her away back to the embassy after dinner, claiming that he forgot something there earlier when Amelia questions him. But can’t it just wait? She’s _tired_ and there are more interesting things they could be doing in their _private_ room at the Dugout.

It’s tempting, giving into what Amelia wants, especially since the last time they got intimate was the night after the Institute’s destruction, the night right before Amelia left for the city. Her touch is warm against his cheek when she kisses him languidly, trying to persuade him to leave the embassy be and come back to the room with her. Arthur has to actively will himself not to succumb to her, pushes her away gently before taking her hands in his and pushing the door open to the embassy.

All of the soldiers stationed in Diamond City are there and then some, all yelling “happy birthday!” when they walk in the door. Amelia stares wide-eyed at them, then smacks Arthur’s shoulder for manipulating her into coming down here, asking if he knew. Of course he did, which is why he made such a big deal about their late night visit. As much as he wants to spend time alone with Amelia, he knows how much she enjoys surprises, especially if there’s alcohol involved. Which there is.

Amelia’s swallowed by the crowd, soldiers and Diamond City residents alike wishing her well, joking about her age. She’s twenty now, into her third decade, but she’s still so _young_ , at least that’s what everyone keeps reminding her. Age is just a number, though, especially considering the elder is only six months older than her. Amelia’s got more under her belt than some Brotherhood soldiers who are twice her age, and her accomplishments only grow each day.

Arthur tries to mostly linger in the shadows, not wanting to attract any attention to himself when it’s Amelia’s night, when she’s celebrating her birthday and her upcoming promotion. Ingram proposes a toast to announce the news, which his met with nothing but cheers and further excitement. Amelia’s a little wobbly on her feet by then, having done a few too many shots with people eager to party with the birthday girl, the talk of the town.

They cut the cake soon after, Amelia drawing Arthur out of his corner so he can help her. He’s rewarded with a slice to the face, icing spreading out across his cheeks and getting caught in his beard when Amelia smacks him with it. He scowls at her jokingly, allowing her and everyone else a moment of laughter before he grabs her by the waist, dips her backwards and kisses her, smearing the cake onto her face in return.

Amelia laughs against his lips, and Arthur keeps her suspended for longer than he probably should, a wide smile on his features when the crowd surrounding them cheers. Amelia’s embarrassed as always by everyone’s reactions, but she can’t help but smile, pressing one last kiss to Arthur’s lips before he steadies her back on her feet.

She takes another chunk out of the cake and bites into it, offering up some of the jumbled mess in her hand to Arthur. The elder just rolls his eyes and takes a bite out of the cake to appease her.

Arthur’s aware of the box in his pocket again, a voice in his head telling him to just _do it_ , whip out the ring and ask her right here and now. It’s the crowd that stops him; he wants the proposal to be something intimate, doesn’t want Amelia to feel pressured to say yes. He just kisses her again, lips pressing against her teeth where she hasn’t stopped smiling.

This is the woman he’s going to marry. As soon as he can find the courage to ask her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck, this chapter is so long. I probably should've split it up, but I'm determined to round this off at 20 chapters. I'm actually posting this a bit prematurely in that I don't actually have the next chapter written yet, but I've been busy playing Far Harbor and sewing a Maxson coat for an upcoming convention and I just wanted to get this out for you guys. Tell me what you think!


	19. Steal My Sunshine

During her time in Diamond City, Amelia realized one thing: the Commonwealth needs leadership. Since the Institute has been destroyed, the only remaining players are the Brotherhood and the Minutemen, both of whom have become de facto leaders in their respective circles. The Minutemen tend to focus small scale, working with minor settlements and caravans, while the Brotherhood looks to the bigger settlements, exercising their authority over Diamond City and various checkpoints across the Commonwealth, trading found technology for supplies and recruiting wastelanders into their ranks.

The establishment of the embassy in Diamond City is only the first step in laying the groundwork for a permanent Brotherhood chapter in the Commonwealth. There’s much more to be done, but the constant stream of citizens pooling into the embassy has the Brotherhood working at full capacity. Those who aren’t working in Diamond City are tasked with administering personality tests and physicals, analyzing the new soldiers and determining which track they belong in, as well as requisitioning new uniforms and equipment for training.

Amelia spends more and more time with Sentinel Jones, who takes in a lot of the rejected Brotherhood initiates and attempts to integrate them into the Minutemen. The small militia’s requirements for duty aren’t as strenuous as the Brotherhood, but it at least gives them a second chance to prove their worth, even if most of those rejected by the Brotherhood are also rejected by the Minutemen. It’s respectable, though, what Nora’s trying to do, and Amelia realizes that for the Brotherhood to be successful in the Commonwealth they’re going to need to work with the Minutemen. Or at least establish some territorial boundaries.

She brings up the idea of a partnership to Nora, who is more than willing to make an attempt at working together. With the general’s involvement in both factions, it should be easy for them to establish a coalition, so at Amelia’s first council meeting as proctor she presents the idea. It’s met with minimal resistance; pretty much everyone respects her accomplishments at the embassy, knows that her acts of diplomacy have done great things for the Brotherhood. With the elder’s second-in-command and his partner both advocating for an alliance, it’s easy to get the rest of the officers to fall in line.

The council elects Amelia as Arthur’s secondhand for the meeting, seeing as the Sentinel will be acting on behalf of the Minutemen and neither Kells nor the other proctors are exactly diplomat material. Nora and Arthur agree to devote the next week to formulating their respective plans for the treaty, meeting the following Friday in Bunker Hill as a sort of convention for the proposed agreement.

Amelia and Arthur spend the evenings in their quarters working out the Brotherhood’s demands for what they’ve dubbed the Commonwealth Accords. It’s nice, being able to spend time together that’s not just the last hour before sleep or the first hour in the morning. They’re working, yes, but more importantly they’re spending time together – scheduled, specifically allocated time, without interruption. It’s not something they’ve gotten a lot of, _ever_ , especially not since the Institute’s destruction. The evenings go by easily and despite the occasional goof-off, they get a lot of work done. Amelia sits between Arthur’s legs on the floor, pages spread around them as they scribble down ideas, write drafts, mule over ideas. They drink and joke and it’s just _nice_ , and Arthur can’t help but hope this is how the rest of his life goes, working alongside the woman he loves to do what’s best for the Brotherhood.

Every night the box in his pocket gets heavier and heavier and it gets harder and harder not to pop the question. All he wants is for Amelia to be _his_ , in an official capacity, but it’s just getting there that’s hard. The evenings in his quarters are nice, yes, but he not proposal worthy. Things just haven’t aligned for them yet.

When the day of the convention comes, Amelia and Arthur wake up together, get dressed quietly and eat the breakfast brought to their room while making last minute revisions to their part of the treaty. A lancer comes to their room after they’ve eaten to inform them that their vertibird is set to depart in ten minutes. Arthur thanks the young woman, tells her they’ll be down soon.

“Do you have everything?” Amelia asks, digging through her own duffle bag to make sure she’s packed everything correctly. They’re only set to be gone for a couple days, a week tops, but she’d rather not have to return to the Prydwen during that time.

“There’s just one more thing I need to do,” Arthur replies. He crosses over to his computer, opening up a new message box and begins typing away. Amelia spends the time double-checking Arthur’s bag, then her own, then their toiletries drawer just in case she missed something. If she forgets something, she can probably buy it in Bunker Hill, but she’s quite fond of the Brotherhood-issued toothpaste and would rather not deal with the thick, acidic gel sold in the wasteland.

“Ready?” Arthur inquires once he’s sent off his message, standing up and smoothing his jacket down over his legs. Amelia smiles, traipses across the room so she’s standing in front of him.

“You forgot something,” Amelia says, and before Arthur can ask what it is her arms are around his neck, pulling him down so she can plant a kiss on his lips, their first of the morning.

The elder smiles, wraps his arms around Amelia’s waist and pulls her into his chest. She smiles into the kiss, forever thrilled to be kissing Arthur. They break apart a few seconds later, grinning at each other all the while.

“I love you,” Amelia declares with her arms still around the elder’s neck.

“I love you more,” Arthur responds, pressing one last kiss to her nose before they detach. He casually tucks his hands into his pockets, runs his thumb over the box still hidden away, a reminder. This would be a good moment, if not for the fact that they’ve got places to be. Another time. But soon.

A few minutes later the two of them load up in a vertibird, a couple paladins falling in behind them as their escort. The lancer departs soon after, and it’s only ten or so minutes later that they land at the agreed drop off point a couple blocks from Bunker Hill, just along the river’s edge. A few of Nora’s Minutemen greet them, all wearing tricorn hats and holding laser muskets. Amelia tries to stand a little taller despite the heaviness of the duffle on her back; she wants to look worthy of not only being Arthur’s girlfriend but also his secondhand, his partner for the accords.

“Elder. Proctor,” greets a man who can’t be much older than the two of them. “I’m Colonel Garvey, and these are a couple of my men, Sergeants Stewart and Nagayama. We’ll be escorting you to Bunker Hill this morning.”

“Thank you, Colonel. Please, lead the way,” Arthur responds professionally.

Amelia smiles at the men, falls into step with Arthur as they begin the small journey to Bunker Hill. Colonel Garvey takes his place at the head of the entourage, sergeants flanking them and paladins bringing up the rear. They’re a group to behold: three men dressed in Revolutionary War dusters, Amelia and Arthur in heavy coats and black jumpsuits despite the heat, two power armored soldiers behind them.

“Feels very official, huh?” Amelia utters to Arthur, opting to keep her voice low. Arthur stares ahead, doesn’t even notice Amelia’s spoken until she nudges him in the ribs. He quirks an eyebrow at her, face otherwise stoic, and Amelia just laughs before she repeats herself. The elder shrugs in return, choosing to keep things professional in the midst of the surrounding soldiers. Amelia just sighs.

It’s not long before they’re approaching the settlement’s gates, greeted by the town’s leader, a middle-aged woman named Kessler.

“A lot of folk around here are still wary of you Brotherhood types, so we’d appreciate it if you’d be on your best behavior,” she tells them, and Amelia tries not to laugh at the prospect. Sure, the battle at Bunker Hill did a little bit of damage to the settlement, but that was mostly a fight between the Institute and the Railroad. Amelia’s still not quite sure why the Brotherhood bothered to interfere. Regardless, they’re here to negotiate a treaty to bring peace to the Commonwealth and the last thing they’re trying to do is stir up trouble.

Garvey leads them through the marketplace, greets an old merchant named Stockton who allows them to pass through, opens up a ground hatch next to his shop. Garvey turns to face the Brotherhood personnel before they descend.

“The General chose the repurposed utility basement as the spot for the meeting. You’re very unlikely to be disturbed down here,” the colonel explains to them. “She also asked that you leave your guards outside.”

“That’s not-”

“That will be fine,” Arthur interrupts the paladin who tries to interject. He trusts the Sentinel – if she wanted to ambush the Brotherhood, she’s had plenty of other opportunities to do so. And besides, rebuilding the Commonwealth is Nora’s main objective. Starting a war with the Brotherhood would only hinder the progress they’ve made.

Amelia and Arthur follow Preston down the ladder and through the tunnels until they reach an open room. The setup is simple enough: a long table on one end, four couches surrounding a coffee table in the center, and a shorter table on the far side, where Nora and another Minuteman await them.

“General Jones,” Arthur greets Nora once they’ve descended the stairs. He eyes the tall man standing rigidly to her right; his face is covered by a scarf and a pair of dark sunglasses but there’s no doubt that his gaze is fixated on the elder.

“Elder Maxson, Proctor Dirthe, great to see the both of you,” the woman reaches forward to shake both of their hands before turning to her colonel. “You may go Preston.”

“General,” the colonel excuses himself, turning to exit. Arthur takes the moment to take his and Amelia’s bags and set them behind the closest couch, out of the way. When the colonel is out of sight, Nora speaks again.

“I presume you ordered your men to remain outside?” the general questions, gesturing for the two Brotherhood officers to sit down.

“Indeed, though I’m not sure how pleased they are with the situation,” Arthur says in an attempt at humor while he pulls out Amelia’s chair. They all sit except for Nora’s partner, who looks down at Nora for instruction.

“It’s alright,” the general says to him, motioning for him to sit.

The Minuteman doesn’t do so right away; instead his hands reach for the scarf around his face, unraveling it slowly. Amelia quirks an eyebrow at the general who misses the expression, her eyes focused on the elder directly across the table from her. The sunglasses come off next, and Amelia and Arthur both gasp, the elder launching from his seat, his voice full of rage.

“What is he doing here? With Brotherhood personnel standing right outside? What made you think this was a good idea?”

“Arthur, please,” Amelia whispers, begging Arthur to sit back down. The elder continues to shoot daggers at Danse, whose eyes are buried in his lap.

“Danse is an integral part of the Minutemen and thus will be an integral part of these discussions,” Nora waves off Arthur’s disdain. “His familiarity with both sides will do nothing but benefit us. With the Institute gone, Danse has nowhere to be recalled to, no puppeteer controlling him from the shadows. Not that there was in the first place.”

“I told you to get him out of the Commonwealth. How am I supposed to explain to my soldiers that a man I told them _you_ killed is now serving under you?” Arthur hisses at the general, hands balled into fists where he leans them against the table, still standing.

“That is something that _you_ are going to have to find a solution for, Elder. And soon, preferably. If we are going to form this coalition, then the Brotherhood is going to be seeing a lot of Danse. He is my Lieutenant General, after all.”

The synth in question remains silent in his seat, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Amelia notices that the former paladin has let his hair and beard grow out over the past couple months, the dark strands sweeping across his forehead flatly instead of up in the voluminous shape she’s used to. Arthur glares at the synth, trying to figure out just how he’s going to break this news to his soldiers.

The tension in the room seeps through all of their bones, Arthur’s especially evident in the tight coil of his fists on the table. In an attempt to calm him, Amelia reaches over and lays a hand on top of his, thumb rubbing circles over his wrist.

“I never meant to betray your trust, Arthur. I had every intention of terminating my own existence, even after you spared me. But Nora – the Minutemen – they gave me purpose. All I want is for the Brotherhood and the Minutemen to be able to work together. If that means I have to work exclusively behind the scenes, I will.”

“I’ll think of something,” Amelia says quickly, squeezing Arthur’s hand as he goes to speak. The elder looks down at her in question, his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. “What? I can talk our way out of this. I’m pretty good at that.”

“You would’ve made a good lawyer,” Nora laughs after a few beats of silence. Amelia flashes a grin at the general and then at Arthur, who’s locked into unwavering eye contact with the former paladin.

“Arthur, babe, c’mon. Let’s not wreck this before we start.”

The elder breaks his glare to look down at Amelia, finally taking a seat in his chair, still rigid but at least compliant. One step forward.

The deliberations go on much more easily after that, despite Arthur’s glare every time Danse speaks. It’s not that he’s mad at Danse specifically, more he had the audacity to come here when there are Brotherhood soldiers outside. If they even get a glance at him, he’s as good as dead, and Arthur would rather not spill blood on the steps of this monument. Things would have been so much easier if he would have just fled the Commonwealth like Arthur told him to.

There’s not much headway made that day. They mostly just spend the hours going over their respective plans, scribbling down notes in the margins of their plans rather than making anything concrete.

They call it quits rather early, long before the sun starts to set. Rather than start on something new, they agree it’s best to spend the night going over their notes and start fresh tomorrow now that they have each other’s plans to work off. The real negotiations will start tomorrow.

Nora points out the room that Nora and Arthur will be staying in, an old locker room converted into a sort of executive suite used for special purposes such as this. It’s not much, just a little smaller than Arthur’s quarters on the Prydwen, just with a bigger bed and an attached bathroom.

“If you want, I can send your escorts down here in the adjacent room. Or I can put them up in the inn. It’s up to you, elder,” Nora offers. Arthur deliberates bringing them down here, but a squeeze of Amelia’s hand in his has him thinking otherwise.

“Tell them to take the night off,” Arthur tells Nora, adding a quick, “please,” afterwards. The woman just smiles, bids both him and Amelia a pleasant evening before tugging Danse towards the door. The proctor waves goodbye to the synth, who smiles feebly at her before following Nora.

“You should be more welcoming to him, Arthur. He was your best friend for the longest time and now you hate him because of something he couldn’t help,” Amelia chastises once the Minutemen are out of earshot.

“The Danse I knew also wasn’t a machine,” Arthur bites back, still bitter about the prospect.

“But he was. That’s the whole thing. The Danse we knew when we were kids, the one who rescued me outside the Citadel when I was fourteen, he’s the same man who sat across from us today. You know that, that’s why you let him go in the first place.”

“And what good did that do him? Instead of doing what I told him to, he stuck around to help out another faction and now my sentinel trots him around and calls him her second-in-command! Someone’s going to spot him and they’re going to kill him. The order to shoot on sight still stands.”

“Which is why we need to come up with a plan,” Amelia suggests. Arthur crosses his arms, glares at the door without speaking. The proctor sighs, crosses the room to plop down on the side of the bed. She toes off her boots with an even louder sigh, slipping her bomber coat off her shoulders and throwing it on the desk next to the bed. It’s incredibly stuff in this basement, the concrete walls doing nothing for air flow. Her chest feels tight, and Arthur’s stubbornness isn’t helping her relax any.

“If I tell the Brotherhood that Danse is alive, I will be seen as a failure. Sentinel Jones will be labeled a traitor for harboring the enemy, never mind the fact that she installed him into her ranks,” Arthur speaks after a moment, still standing in the same spot. Amelia pulls off her socks, tests her feet against the cold concrete before she walks over to Arthur and wraps her arms around his waist from the side.

“It’s not going to be easy. But I’ll take care of it. This won’t fall back on you, I promise.”

“How can you promise that? Of course it’s my fault. I issued the order for him to be killed and then went back on my own instruction. I allowed a known traitor to live.”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll get us out of this, though, I promise. I always do.”

Arthur looks down at her then, the small woman’s chest pressed against his side where he hasn’t uncrossed his arms. The dim lighting of the room falls across her face, highlighting the soft angles of her cheeks, the pink of her lips, the blue of her eyes. He unfolds his arms, drapes one across her back. She smiles up at him and he can’t help but smile back, his worries falling away with just the small curve of her lips.

Amelia’s always been there to lift him up when he falls, a voice of reason when he gets lots inside his head. She’s more than his love; she’s his partner, his better half. He doubts that he’d be the man he is today were it not for her involvement in his life. In an ever-changing world, she’s been his one constant for the past two years. They missed out on so much time together: the years that passed after he became elder, the days they missed out on because of the secrecy of their relationship, the nights spent in separate beds so as to not raise suspicion. He can’t spend another moment without her. Doesn’t want to. All that’s left is for her to-

“Marry me,” he says, eyes still locked on Amelia’s. Her eyes widen, arms falling from Arthur’s waist as she takes a surprised step back. “I mean, I mean-”

“You mean…” Amelia trails off, eyeing him questioningly.

“I mean – hold on. Just – hold on.”

Arthur fumbles around in his pocket, looking for the ring that he knows is in there but he can’t seem to get his fingers around when he needs to. A dusty, moldy basement isn’t what he envisioned when he planned out the proposal, but the words are out there and he’ll be damned if it he takes them back.

He gets his hand around the box after a few moments of scrabbling. When he looks up, Amelia’s still wide-eyed, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face now, less shocked and more entertained by the situation. The box almost falls out of his hand when he tries to open it, and he flicks his eyes back up to Amelia, who’s biting her lip in an attempt to suppress a smile.

“I – god, this isn’t how I wanted this to go at all,” Arthur says, his nervousness bubbling out of him as he tries to remember the speech he memorized months ago. But now that the moment’s here, he’s having troubles finding the words. Amelia, thankfully, remains silent, giving him the opportunity to say what he wants to say. He remembers that he’s supposed to get down on one knee at this point, which he does, the ring box clasped between his hands

“Amelia – you, you know you mean the world to me. God, I’ve loved you since we were fifteen and now we’re twenty and I’m an elder and you’re a proctor and this isn’t how I ever envisioned my life to go but you’re here and I’m rambling,” Arthur stops himself with a laugh, his words tumbling out of his mouth without thought. “You’re beautiful, you’re strong, and more than anything you keep me grounded. You’re the only one who doesn’t see me as an elder or a Maxson – to you I’m just Arthur, and I appreciate that more than you know. You’re patient, you’re kind, and you’re the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. So please, Amelia Dirthe, will you marry me?”

He opens the ring box and holds it out to her, Amelia still suppressing a smile.

“Are you sure?” she asks just to make sure. Divorces don’t happen in the Brotherhood. A union is a union, and even though Amelia’s one-hundred percent ready to devote herself to Arthur, she wants to make sure that he’s completely on board with it to.

“I informed Lost Hills this morning that I already had plans to propose to you, so it’s official. They’re _technically_ supposed to have the final say in all elders’ unions, but even if they say no I still plan on marrying you. But only if you’ll have me,” Arthur finishes with a nervous smile.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Arthur!” Amelia exclaims, astounded that he’d think any different. She nearly tackles him, shooting into his lap where he’s still kneeled on the floor. The force nearly knocks him onto his back, but he stabilizes himself with his shins against the concrete, Amelia’s body crushed against his.

When Amelia’s vice-like grip around his neck lessens, Arthur resettles them with his legs crossed in front of him, Amelia straddling his lap. The proctor smiles at him, and Arthur realizes after a moment that the ring is still in his hand.

Without further ado, Arthur slips the ring out of its holder, taking Amelia’s hand in his and sliding the ring onto her finger. To both of their surprise, it’s a perfect fit. Like it was meant to be.

Maybe it wasn’t the perfect proposal that Arthur envisioned, but when Amelia’s lips press softly against his, it’s hard to find a flaw.

 

\------

 

When they meet with Nora and Danse the next morning, the first thing the general notices is how happy the two Brotherhood soldiers look. She sees the ring on Amelia’s finger almost immediately and asks coyly if that’s a new development. Amelia just beams, weaves her fingers between Arthur’s and tells her yes, gives her a quick recap of the proposal. Behind them, Danse looks on, a small smile making its way onto his features. Arthur’s still in high spirits, and with a small glance down at Amelia he disentangles himself from his _fiancée_ , walks past the gushing women to approach Danse.

“I’m sorry, Danse. For all of this,” Arthur says, extending his hand to Danse in the form of an apology. To his gratitude, Danse takes it, shakes it firmly with a small smile.

“I would’ve done the same thing, if I were in your shoes,” Danse admits, and Arthur can’t help but chuckle at the prospect.

“I – when this is all done, when the accords are signed and we’ve informed everyone of your, well, return, I suppose, we’re going to get married. And I want you to be there as my best man.”

Arthur thought long and hard about this last night, lying awake in bed with Amelia sprawled across him. Ceremonies aren’t that commonplace nowadays, but he is an elder and a Maxson at that, so he supposes there are certain traditions to be upheld. Not that it matters once their union is written into the Codex, but Arthur wants to give Amelia a real wedding. And if he’s being honest, he sort of wants one to. And you can’t have a traditional ceremony without a best man.

“Is that a good idea?” Danse asks, confused by the prospect. From enemy to outlaw to diplomat to best man. Surely there’s someone more suitable, less controversial?

“There’s no one I’d rather have beside me than the man who’s been beside me all along.”

“Then it’d be an honor, sir.”

 

\------

 

It only takes three more days to finalize the agreement. Teagan, Quinlan, and Cade are flown in for the signing of the accords, and Amelia greets them at the gate before they enter Bunker Hill, informs them that Danse is alive because of an act of goodwill by the elder and the sentinel, that he’s been screened again and again, that Nora trusts him and there’s no reason for them not to. It’s a fairly weak argument, but when Arthur swoops in and informs them that this is how the situation is, there’s no room for anyone to argue. He officially retracts the order to kill Danse on sight, and then they follow him into the settlement.

There’s a table arranged for them in front of the monument, designated seats for Arthur and Nora on one side, facing out at the settlers and soldiers gathered in front. There’s even a reporter there, a small woman with a newspaper out of Diamond City present to record the event.

Everyone takes their place for the signing of the accords, Amelia to the left of Arthur with Teagan next to her, Danse standing to the right of Nora and Garvey to his side. That’s how they remain, frozen in time with the flash of the camera, a page of signatures ushering in a new era.

And like that, the Commonwealth got a little bit brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last few chapters are coming out so much longer than I intended. This entire fic is turning out much longer than I intended, really. I can't believe I've written 75K words. Last chapter will be up next week, and the epilogue will be up soon after. Thank you for reading this monstrosity.


	20. Hand in Hand We're Heading

The sun ripples off the water, nearly blinding Amelia as she sits and stares out the open window. Haylen stands behind her, combing through her hair, rattling on about how excited she is, how gorgeous Amelia looks, how beautiful a day it is for a wedding. The bride-to-be’s heart beats heavily in her chest, sweaty palms pressed to her thighs over the fabric of her dress.

It’s normal to be nervous, that’s what everyone has been telling her since Arthur proposed two weeks ago. The stress Amelia felt during that time is nothing compared to what she feels right now, cooped up in a dilapidated kitchen while her friends buzz around her.

“There! All done,” Haylen exclaims as she pushes the last bobby pin into place. Amelia takes a deep breath before turning to face the mirror. She’s a little surprised at how much the scribe was able to do with how little hair there is to work with, and she can’t help but smile at herself in the mirror.

“It looks amazing, Haylen. Thank you,” Amelia says graciously, standing up and hugging her best friend.

“You look stunning,” Ingram contributes from her spot in the doorframe, and Amelia ducks her head at the compliment. She’s never really cared for the spotlight, even though she’s barely visited the shadows in the two months since the destruction of the Institute. Today, though, all eyes are on her, and she hasn’t even stepped out of the house yet.

Amelia wonders, not for the first time today, why she agreed to a ceremony in the first place. Technically, she and Arthur are already married, have been for about a week now, since Lost Hills approved their union and logged it officially into the Codex. But it hasn’t felt real, not without a celebration.

The council pushed for an exuberant ceremony, wanted to deck out the airport in pomp and circumstance for the wedding of the last Maxson. The mere thought of such an event made Amelia feel sick to her stomach, and to her gratitude Arthur shut down the idea immediately. Even this small ceremony is unnerving Amelia to no end, and it’s only Haylen’s hand on her shoulder that reminds her that she needs to breathe. She’s had like three panic attacks today. The last thing she needs is another one.

“Do you need anything? Water? A fan? A one-way ticket out of here?” Haylen asks, breaking the nervous silence that’s impregnated the room. Ingram hushes her, but it gets the first smile of the day out of Amelia.

A water bottle is thrust into her hand without having to confirm her need, and Amelia thanks Haylen before she chugs back the bottle. It does make her feel a little better despite the sweltering heat, and before she can make a comment about the temperature there’s a light knock on the door.

Haylen hollers a loud “it’s open!” before she takes the bottle from Amelia and starts attending to flyaways in the bride’s hair. Doctor Li walks in the door, with Moses hot on her heels. Amelia perks up at the sight of the knight and smiles feebly at him, excited by his presence but unfortunately restrained by Haylen’s hands in her hair.

“Missus Maxson,” Moses greets her, winking from behind the doctor. Amelia smiles a little brighter; it’s the first time she’s been addressed as such, and it sounds like music in her ears. 

“Thanks for coming, Moses,” Amelia says, beckoning him over. The knight steps forward and takes her hands in his, yellow smile stark against his dark skin.

“Like I’d miss seein’ you all dolled up like this,” Moses responds with a wink and a quick squeeze of her hands. 

“Espree,” Haylen greets him once she’s finished with Amelia’s hair. “Haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Oh, miss me, y’did, hmm? S’alright, Haylen, I missed your chubby little face too,” Moses teases the scribe, who reaches out to shove playfully at his shoulder. 

“Watch yourself, kiddo, I’m your superior now. If you aren’t careful I’ll have you on dust duty back in Cambridge,” Haylen smirks, reminding them all of her promotion to senior scribe after Amelia’s advancement to proctor. 

“That’s all well and good, but it’s almost time,” Li interrupts them, and Amelia swears her heart lurches into her throat right then. She steadies herself on her feet, trying not to trip in her too-big heels. Moses extends an arm out to her and she smiles gratefully at the knight as she loops her arm through his.

“Ready to go, Missus Maxson?” he asks, and Amelia swallows dryly before nodding, motioning for the doctor to lead them out. 

Li falls into step with Moses and the bride, Haylen and Ingram trailing behind. When they hit the wooden steps leading down to the dock, Moses passes Amelia off to the doctor, the bride curling her other arm around Madison’s as they wait.

“You look beautiful. Your parents would’ve been so proud,” Madison whispers. Tears spring to Amelia’s eyes and she blinks them back, not willing to smudge whatever makeup Haylen managed to scavenge for the occasion. 

Amelia squeaks out a quiet thanks, gripping the doctor’s arm a little tighter. Madison is the closest thing she has to her parents; that’s why she wanted the doctor to be the one to give her away. The usually stoic doctor smiles, her eyes reflecting the glossiness of the bride’s.

“Les’ get this show on the road,” Moses calls from behind them, and Amelia laughs a bit as the entourage starts towards the dock. When they round the corner of the boathouse, Amelia catches her first look at Arthur for the day, and everything around her seems to stop.

Amelia wants to run, rush forward and just kiss Arthur because he’s standing there in a full tuxedo and she doesn’t think he’s ever looked so _handsome_ , but another part of her is telling her to turn, to run, to hightail it out of there, to forget the whole ceremony and just lock herself in a quiet room somewhere until Arthur comes to find her. But as much as she wants to run, she can’t, not when Arthur’s absolutely beaming at her. She doesn’t think he’s ever looked so happy.

She vaguely realizes that Doctor Li’s handing her off to Arthur before she’s taking his hands into hers. Arthur’s hands are sweaty in her own, but nothing matters because he’s here. Arthur is all that matters in this moment and Amelia’s never seen him look so happy, so vibrant, the worries of an elder shelved away and replaced with the joy of a young lover, a man marrying the woman he’s head over heels for.

The ceremony is short, no vows, no ring exchanges, just words that the elder asked Sentinel Jones to say and then Arthur’s kissing her, their marriage finalized with a press of lips that feels more electric than any kiss they’ve shared previously. When they part, they’re both grinning, the joyous cheering of their friends drowned out by the ringing in their ears, all senses fully enveloped in each other as they lean in to kiss again, the electricity buzzing stronger the closer they get to each other.

When she joined up with the Brotherhood nearly six years ago, she never imagined that this was how her life would end up. Never imagined that she’d fall in love at all, never mind this quickly; never thought she’d be married at twenty to the pimple-faced kid who pointed a gun at her the first time she met. Never thought she’d be so involved in the affairs of an organization that she previously knew nothing about. But here she is with Arthur’s arms around her, dipping her backwards and holding onto her, laughter bubbling out of her when her friends continue to cheer.

Her life has always felt so divided into segments, to separate eras spanning from a few months to years, each one more different and more strange than the last. She’s gone from bullied child to orphan to refugee to soldier to officer and now she wears her proudest role, Amelia Maxson, wife to Arthur, the man who never gave up on her.

“I love you,” he whispers as he pulls her back onto her feet, and Amelia finally lets loose the tears she’s been holding back all day.

Things simply couldn’t be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah man, I totally ran out of steam on this fic and I feel so terrible for this awful conclusion but I had to get something out before I drove myself insane. That being said, I'm going to start on the epilogue soon, which will hopefully be less pathetic than this. Thank you to those who have stuck with me through this, to any and all of you who read this. I've got another couple ideas in store for other stories but I think after the epilogue I'm officially closing the book on Amelia and Arthur's story.
> 
> Feel free to message me on [**tumblr**](http://janglethemoonmonkey.tumblr.com/ask) if you want to talk about the story or fallout or whatever. I don't bite and I'd love to get some feedback over there if you don't want to leave any here. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading. I appreciate your comments and kudos and even silent reading more than you could imagine. I wasn't expecting anyone to read this at all, so thank you.


	21. Epilogue

The world is much bigger than Amelia ever could have imagined.

Chicago. New York. Colorado. New Vegas. Lost Hills. The ruins of once was a prospering nation pass beneath their feet every day. Out the window, old buildings and open forests litter the land, interrupted by small villages – villages, settlements, cities, all in various states of prosperity. Some are big, some are small, but all clinging to that last bit of hope.

“Mommy, I’m sleepy,” a small voice whines next to Amelia. Looking down, she sees her son rubbing his eyes, a pout on his lips.

“Yeah, buddy? You want to nap now or wait until we land?” the mother asks, brushing Julian’s hair away from his eyes.

“Nap time now!” the little boy yells. Amelia chuckles as she hoists him up on her hip, pulling his hands away from his face.

“In a few minutes, bub. Daddy will be up here in a minute,” she tells him, hushing the cry that tries to escape her son’s mouth.

Julian settles into her shoulder, eyes closed as they wait. He’s a little heavy for a two-year old, but Amelia endures the challenge of holding him up. Having two children has made her stronger, both physically and emotionally. And even though she’s always been patient, she’s less likely to snap and run away now; having control of her emotions is increasingly useful in her role as the High Elder’s wife.

Eighteen years in the Brotherhood of Steel and Amelia has held her fair share of titles. Scribe. Proctor. Head Scribe. Mother. Wife. But Amelia’s found she feels the best when she isn’t tied down by a label.

Working as Head Scribe was great – she and Arthur and the entirety of the East Coast Brotherhood benefitted from the work she did in her two years on the job. But there was always something missing, some part of her that felt unfulfilled despite the fact that she was given more than she could have ever asked for. When the time came for Arthur to take the High Elder’s seat, she had no quarrel about resigning her position in order to join her husband at Lost Hills. But even with the entirety of the Brotherhood’s knowledge and technology at her disposal, she still felt unsatisfied.

Even when Elizabeth came into their lives nine months after Arthur’s promotion, Amelia was still having trouble figuring out just where she belonged. It wasn’t until Elizabeth got a little older – when she started walking, talking, asking questions – that Amelia realized exactly what she was missing.

Her mother always wanted her to do great things, always thought that Amelia could change things if only she had the resources to do so. With an entire army behind her, Amelia finally had those resources, and combine that with her passion for history and literature and Amelia started teaching, first to her daughter, then to the children in Lost Hills and even to older members with curious spirits.

Arthur eventually got a little stir crazy, being in the bunker, and shortly after they learned Amelia was pregnant Arthur ordered for the Canary to be built. It took about a year and a half to build the zeppelin – a modestly sized ship constructed with the high elder and his family in mind. The ship allowed Arthur to take a more hands-on approach to his duties – an action that displeased the Elder Council, but it’s not as though their disapproval would have influenced Arthur’s decision in any way.

Elizabeth came around as the Canary’s construction was well underway, born as a direct result of Arthur’s ascent to High Elder. They didn’t plan on having kids for a while, really – wanted to wait until they were in their late-twenties or early-thirties, when they were settled into their roles and no longer felt like kids themselves. Their daughter was born beautiful and healthy, the beginning of the Maxson family. With the Maxson line secured, both Arthur and Amelia were able to focus on their real passions; for Arthur, it was expanding on old technologies – not inventing new things per se, but tweaking the old, making it better, starting with the mass distribution of Neriah’s X-111 compound to replace dingy and diluted Rad-Away.

And Amelia kept teaching. No longer confined to Lost Hills, she now teaches wastelanders, tribals, anyone who will listen to her talk. She has dreams of authoring a pamphlet, maybe even a book, something to remain with the tribals after she leaves besides their memories.

Julian is asleep in Amelia’s arms now, his head resting on her shoulder and snoring lightly into her ear. Her arm’s falling asleep and she wishes she could set him down, but it’s hard to get her son to keep quiet these days so she’ll take the silence while she can. 

Of course, the moment that she starts basking in the silence is when it’s broken.

“Momma!” Elizabeth squeals, her high pitched voice echoing off the steel walls of the command center. Amelia quickly covers Julian’s ears, hoping that her daughter didn’t stir him awake.

It’s wishful thinking, though; Elizabeth’s loud footsteps alone could’ve woken up her son, never mind the reverberation of her squeels.

“Quite down, Eliza,” Arthur commands, his voice stern but nevertheless full of affection for his daughter.

Regardless of his instruction, Elizabeth surges forwards, nearly crashing into Amelia in an attempt to hug her mother. Amelia never really wanted kids, but she can’t help but be fond of how excited both her children always are to see her.

“Hi, sweetie. How was your training?” she asks, untwisting one of the straps of her daughter’s small set of armor with the hand not supporting her now-asleep-again son.

“I hit the bullseye three times!” Elizabeth exclaims, and Amelia’s eyebrows perk up in interest, impressed until she sees Arthur smirking from behind them. Her husband shrugs a shoulder, allowing their daughter to brag this once.

“Keep it up and someday you’ll be a part of mom’s books, hmm?” Arthur muses, ruffling up the little girl’s hair as he crosses the room towards his family.

When Elizabeth bats his hand away and pouts, Arthur chuckles, dropping a kiss onto his son’s forehead. He smooths his hand through the blonde hair plastered against his skin before leaning down to plant a kiss on Amelia’s lips. His wife smiles into the kiss, never dissatisfied with her husband’s affection.

“I love you,” he whispers after they part. Amelia smiles a little wider, laces her fingers with her husband’s as they turn to look out the window.

They can see snow through the fogged glass, something Amelia still isn’t used to seeing despite this being their third or fourth trip out to Vault 0 since the birth of their children. There’s a lot of technology that’s been pumping out of the mountain base over the past couple years, and Arthur hopes to use some of it to aid in their negotiations with the NCR. Renegotiating their treaty every year is growing tiresome, so they’re hoping that the vault has something that will be beneficial in the long run. Whether they’re going to use it to intimidate or alleviate is yet to be seen. Arthur would prefer the latter, but relations between the Brotherhood and the NCR have always been rocky. It’s good that he married the best peacekeeper he knows.

Arthur squeezes his wife’s fingers a little tighter, pulls his daughter into his side when she strolls up beside him. She’s tall for an eight-year-old, is already more of a handful than either of them could’ve imagined. She’ll make a great elder someday, if that’s what she wants.

The past twelve years of marriage haven’t been easy, but Amelia would’ve trade a moment of it for anything. And now, between the negotiations with the NCR in the west and the rebuilding in the east, it seems the world is finally ready to start pulling itself back together again.

Two hundred and twenty three years ago, greed and corruption almost wiped out the world completely. Those themes still prevail in the wasteland, sure, but Arthur’s made it his goal, the Brotherhood of Steel’s goal, to make sure the world will never end up in ruins again.

Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it, and Amelia has made it her life’s goal to make sure people remember why the world ended in the first place. Their methods are different, sure, but Arthur and Amelia complement each other in the best ways possible, and they can only hope that their children will follow in their footsteps.

One day, their children will follow in their footsteps, in one way or another. Arthur doesn’t wish for either of them to experience the same pressures that he did as a child, but he also wants to make sure they’re ready for what the world’s got to throw at them. Their children have a lot to learn and so do they, and with the Brotherhood behind them, maybe the rest of the world can learn a little bit too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a minute, but the past couple weeks have been more than a little crazy. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the epilogue! I've got a sort of pre-war AU type thing coming up soon, but it'll be more of a Danse fic than anything, I think. But yeah, keep a look out for that if you're interested.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, for sticking through this with me. I love and appreciate every one of you, and would love to hear how you guys feel about the ending.


End file.
